Starting Over

Two years ago, I was opening my heart to the reality of my new daughter. By this time in 2013, we knew her name and had a single picture and were just two weeks away from being legal and forever family.

I was preparing as any expectant mother would: reading the books, getting her room and clothes and toys ready, packing and preparing for a trip overseas that I knew would change my life.

I opened my heart to love a perfect stranger, who had a past, a personality, a life I didn't know about.

May 15, 2013

This day changed my life. We welcomed Mali into our arms and family. She plopped into my lap as if she knew we were hers.

So when we came home we did all the right things: we stayed with her at bedtime, we tried not to ever leave her alone. We opened our hearts to this new little stranger.

But after what should have been a transition time where the beginning bonds of attachment started, where the gossamer strands of trust should have begun to bind us together, they blew away with the breeze. It didn't take long for us to realize that there was something seriously wrong, that I was clearly not equipped to handle. So we sought help, we learned the right words to say, we were encouraged how to love and care and support this one who was so obviously hurting from a very deep and fundamental place in her spirit.

Her wounds are deeper and more fundamental than we ever imagined. And for the past 22 months, life has been challenging.

I have been spit at, hit, kicked, head-butted, pinched, bit. I have had to hold my daughter to keep her safe from herself. I have had virulent ugly words spat at my face--her hurt and anger and fear poured out on the nearest, safest person she could find. Usually me, often Eric. Both of us.

So slowly, ever so slowly, after dark nights of regret and whispered prayers of desperation, I closed my heart off. I couldn't handle the manipulation, the abuse, the anger and then the desperate need. I had three other children who also have strong emotional needs. It was easier to love the ones who loved me back, who craved my touch, who wanted to spend time with me, who apologized for their ill-treatment, than it was to love the one who has openly hated me.

Summer 2014
Mt. Rushmore National Monument.
After an hour long tantrum--in public

To the place we are now where my soul is weary, where I am so weary all the time. My emotions are shot. I am empty and it takes more than a night out to restore me. I have second-guessed and doubted my abilities as a parent, a wife, a mother. I have chided myself for not being able to better deal with this life, faulting myself for every issue in our home. I feel old, care-worn, and heavy-burdened. I was beginning to resign myself to the simple fact that this was going to be my life and try to make the best of it.

I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall.

I remember them well and my soul is downcast within me. 

But now, we've started making some headway for our sweet girl. New therapies seem to making a tremendous difference. I don't think she's had a serious tantrum in at least a week. Although I don't know this child in front of me, I think this is my only chance at starting over. She seems open to hear the messages of love, safety, family, and attachment. But now I need to learn to love her. To treat her with tenderness and devotion. To open my heart to her as when this was fresh and new and life was full of possibilities.

But with tears in my eyes, I tell you that I'm not sure I want to. I'm not sure I'm willing to open my heart up to this little one. I'm scared. I don't know that I can handle having my heart raked across the coals again. I don't know if I can.

As the person reading this, perhaps all this makes you uncomfortable. You are uncomfortable with the idea that love isn't natural or that a parent could close their heart. Maybe you hear blame--that I am blaming my daughter for all these things, which I am not. I am one who has made mistakes, yelled too loudly, disciplined unfairly, put an undue burden on a child unable to bear it. Maybe you just don't like knowing how messy and broken I am, my daughter is, my whole family is.

So why am I telling you? Why am I putting this deep pain on display? I know that I am opening myself and our family up for judgment, just talking about this is in a public forum is frowned upon. Someday my kids will probably read this and have their own questions and a few accusations.

Because I need to believe that redemption is coming and I want to remember where we've come from.
Because I know that I am not alone. Sitting on their own couches, holding back tears, other mothers and fathers, struggle with similar pain.
Because I am tired of not having people understand, of people doubting my exhaustion and experience.
Because I have to believe that I am capable of healing, that God is capable of healing me.

Yet I call this to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord's great love, I am not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning, great is Your faithfulness. 

So today is a day of starting over.
Tomorrow probably will be too.

Cross-cultural Experiences

In the past week and half, we have explored many parts of the culture and history of Lesotho.

Something that is very important to me is that we experience, as fully as possible, the culture of Lesotho and it's people, the Basotho.

We've seen the Basotho blanket nearly everywhere we have gone. So, naturally, we had to get a few.

Also, there is a traditional hat, called the Basotho hat.

I've made the traditional staple of papa (finely ground corn maize) with beef stew.

And today, we stopped at a shop to get some fabric for skirts for all the girls. (Brand new fabric--I'm in heaven!!! So many beautiful, traditional fabrics, so hard to choose.)

But then again, we are also transmitting some culture over to our little girl. Mali is quickly folding into the American lifestyle. (Already, we're ruining her.)

Our time here is flying by.

Good news!! Our visa processing is going along very well and our papers have already been sent on to Jo-burg. Our meetings with the government have gone very well here and tomorrow we have been asked to meet with the Minister of the Ministry of Social Development (this person answers directly to the Prime Minister of Lesotho). This is an honor very few adoptive families have been asked to do. We hope Eric is on his best behavior. :)

Keep praying--it is obvious that God's hand has been with us during this entire trip and for all of our African adventures.

"Sala hantale"
(stay well)

P.S. Only a few days left to buy a tshirt. Go here to find out all the info you need. Please buy one--you'll be one of the cool kids!

Life in Africa

Dumela! (that means "hello" in Sesotho). 

This is just a quick post to say that after a full week, we're here in Africa. 

All 6 Beukers! 

This journey, so far, has been stretching, eye-opening, hard, beautiful, both expected and unexpected. 

We've travelled throughout the city of Maseru (where we've visited the grocery store that is inside the mall), seen a place called KoMe Caves (where people have lived in caves as their primary homes for five generations), and hiked a mountain called Thabu Bosiu (an important place in the history of Lesotho.) There are stories to tell and images to process. We have seen so much in the past few days that it would take pages and pages to describe it to you. 

I know that the thing you want to know is this: how's it going as a family as 6? Well, a lot like our time in Africa. 

We are all learning how to be a family together--the road, at times, has been exactly as we imagined, yet nothing like we imagined. We're all getting to know each other. That process takes time and patience and lots of determination and no small amount of love. Thankfully, God has supplied everything we've needed. Yet, Eric and I still fall into bed at the end of the day, exhausted to the core. 

We have another week and a half here in Lesotho, where our internet is dependent on spending time with friends. After that, we travel back to South Africa for another week and a half for more appointments. I'll post as I can, but can't promise anything. 

Keep us in your prayers. 

S

Tomorrow We Leave

It is hard to describe this moment.

The bags are mostly packed. The house is mostly clean. Details mostly taken care of.

We're mostly there.

A few small things today: a final soccer game, ballet performance, haircut/donation to Locks of Love, put food in the house for the house sitter, host a Mother's Day lunch, final errands, and put the house in order.

That's it.

In less than 24 hours, we load our bags (way too many of them) full of gifts, donations and personal items and head to airport.

Ready or not, we're ready.

To hold this little one in our arms.
To start to live our new life instead of wondering about it.
To end the waiting pattern where she's there and we're here.

It's time to be a family.

As friends and family you have done more to encourage us with your thoughts and prayers, offers of help, hugs, and unexpected gifts than we could have imagined.

But your job isn't done yet--you have to pray us there and pray us home!

Below you will find our general itinerary and a few specific prayer requests.

Sunday--Leave home!
Tuesday--Arrive in Maseru, Lesotho!
Wednesday--Meet with government officials and go get Sunshine! Begin life as a family of 6!
Friday--First Embassy meeting for official permission to bring her home.
Thursday, May 30--Travel to Joburg, South Africa.
Friday, May 31--First of four appointments in SA for final permission to bring her home.
Sunday, June 9--Get back on a plane to fly home!
Monday, June 10--Arrive in our home city at the airport at about 11:30 a.m.


Here are some things to pray for:
1) Pray for safety: personal and emotional. We're traveling around the world with our three most precious gifts to receive a fourth. And the world is a scary, unknown place.
2) Pray for Sunshine--these next days will be filled with many things that she can't understand. Pray that she knows God's peace, his overwhelming presence, and ultimately the love that we want to share with her.
3) Pray for Josh, Katie and OG--this is a big adjustment for them. Pray they can be the excellent big siblings that they are. Pray they are changed by what they see and experience and that they can see God works and is present in this whole world he created.
4) Pray for Ana, our friend and babysitter extraordinaire. She will be travelling a week from now to join us in Lesotho. Pray for safety on her travels and that her experiences with our family, the orphanage, and others be a blessing to her.
5) Pray for me and Eric. We have a lot of emotion running through us. We're ready and we're scared, we have complete peace and faith, we have moments of fear. We're tired. We are embarking into a new realm of parenthood. We are inadequate for the task.

But this we know: God's got this. He has led us on this journey, full of ups and downs and highs and lows. He has called and we have followed. He has not brought us this far to drop us now. Every moment of the next four weeks, just like the past 2+ years, are known to him. There will be very tough moments--but you know what? it will be Good.

Because God is good, all the time.
All the time, God is good.

A Beautiful Chaos

My house is a disaster.

I don't think that I have fully wiped off our dining room table in four days.

Tonight, I spent a couple hours folding and ironing and washing. Maybe I'll put the clothes away.

The pile of supplies in my room has morphed into a monster that threatens to cover all available floor space.

I feel a bit crazy. In the course of every single day, I run the gamut of every. single. emotion. that i know of: joy, elation, excitement, fear, crazy, overwhelmed, out of control, totally unable and unprepared, tired. Very tired.

There are details that I need to finish: a photobook to introduce the extended family and friends, copies in triplicate of important documents, visa appointments, packing for 5 people to return as 6 in 5 suitcases.

All of this to get ready.

We received word on Tuesday that the Court of Lesotho had granted our petition request. Our little girl has our last name. We have permission to travel and bring her home. Today, I purchase airplane tickets for all of us. We leave for Africa in 13 days.

13 DAYS!!

This is real, my daughter is real, this trip is real. It's all real.

I try to catalogue all that is going through my head and I simply can't. There's so much.

I'm thankful for the ways that people around me have offered support and love. Because even though I have this massive trip to plan, life still marches on. There are orthodontic appointments, routine checkups, ballet, soccer, field trips, fun times with people, even two dates with my sweet husband.

But all of this is leading us very clearly to a moment. A moment where I meet my daughter for the very first time. Where I watch Eric's heart get stolen by this girl with a beautiful smile and bright eyes. Where we see her shy smile. When we try to make her laugh and feel safe and read her books  and cuddle her tightly. Where her new brother and sisters wrap their own arms around her and welcome her in.

Where we promise that we are her forever family. That as long as we have breath in our bodies we will love her, fight for her, be there for her, be her parents.

And that moment will be followed by a lifetime of love, laughter, healing, bonding, playing, of being a family.

I can hardly wait.

Whispers

There's so much I want to say about this part of our adoption process, but it seems that every five minutes has a different emotion or task attached to it. I didn't think that anyone wanted to read my up-and-then-down-and-then-up-again posts. 

However, in the midst of all that, there are lessons being learned and lived. 

Right now on my table there is a 3-ring binder full of lists: what to take, paperwork, what to do, what to buy, bonding hints, how to get the kids ready. Next to that are a few books that I am reading on that same tack. And finally, I spend an inordinate amount of time scouring the net for any hint or tip that will make all this easier, faster, better. 

I tend to make big deals out of little things. The other night I was running errands when I found myself on the toy aisle considering toys for the long flight. I started to panic. How do I buy toys for a little girl I don't know? Who is she? How does she play? Does she like pretend? dress up? dolls? I started to get a bit frantic. It seems silly, I know, but I didn't know what to do or what to choose. And I sent a frantic prayer up to God. 

And he whispered back: 

"It's not about the toys, it's about relationship." 

Deep breath. 

Last week, amidst my travel planning, I decided to check and see what the State Department had to say about international travel. [Note to self: Don't do that again]. What did I learn? The world is a scary place where a lot of bad things happen every single day. Then, our enemy crept in and used two fierce weapons, fear and anxiety, to make me question many aspects of this trip we were planning. 

And then God whispered to me, 

"For I do not give you a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of sound mind." 

(2 Tim. 1:7 NKJV)

It's going to be okay. 

Earlier this week, I spent a great deal of time thinking about this scary place that our entire family is walking into. It's unknown--how will the realness of adoption affect all of us? And I began to fear: knowing that there is darkness to come and fearing that the darkness will be too strong and that I won't be able to see the Light. And I worried and feared. 

And God whispered to me, through the words of a wise friend: 

"Remember the promises I made and the call that I gave you."

"I will lead the blind

    by a road they do not know,

by paths they have not known

    I will guide them.

I will turn the darkness before them into light,

    the rough places into level ground.

These are the things I will do,

    and I will not forsake them."

 Is. 42:16 NRSV

He who leads me in will lead me out. 

And in the midst of these fears, I began to feel very alone, and again fear raged in me. I am all alone. I have to do this by myself. I will fail. 

God in his infinite provision and wisdom used the hands and words of many friends to surround me with love and friendship and help. He whispered words of love and compassion through their actions and words. 

I am never alone. 

Finally, I'm reading a book on claiming Sunshine's life story and preserving it for her someday. And it forces me to look deeply into the circumstances of her life. The book challenges me to look into her life and declare them good, to acknowledge that in all things that God is sovereign. And I struggle with this: how is abandonment good? how can it work together for good? How can I acknowledge that this is a good God's plan for a life? 

And God whispers into my heart my own life verse, the one that I have claimed through my own difficulties in childhood and life, the one that I stake me entire life on:

I praise you, O Lord, 

For I am fearfully and wonderfully made. 

My frame was not hidden from you 

    when I was formed in that secret place. 

Your works are wonderful, I know that full well. 

All the days ordained for me were written in your book

   before a single one of them came to be." 

Psalm 139 

And I am reminded and comforted, because God's whispers are louder and more life-changing that the enemy's weapons. These are the promises that I claim, these are the truths upon which I will stake my life. 

For me, for my family, for my daughter. 

In all this you greatly rejoice, 

though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. 

These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—

of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—

may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. 

1 Peter 1: 6 & 7

Oh, those eyes!

Be still my heart.

She is BEAUTIFUL.

I'm staring at the picture of this little stranger who has captivated my heart and many of my thoughts.

I want to pinch her sweet cheeks. I want to cuddle her under my chin. I want to wipe tears away from those dark brown eyes.

Now, more than ever, my thoughts are consumed with what it's going to take to get her home--what hurdles do I need to leap over, what oceans do I need to cross, what doubts do I need to put aside--what will it take to bring her home?

To that end, we are more than thrilled that two days ago we received from our agency's lawyer in Lesotho legal paperwork--our official petition to the court to adopt our Sunshine. Tonight it will be notarized and tomorrow, Fed-exed back across the ocean for a legal action to take place sometime in April. The court will then issue a new birth certificate--and then we go get her. Holy Cow!

So, to get ready, we've been rearranging our house (more on that to come....), purchasing items that we need for a long trip to Africa with our family (Imodium ad, anyone?)

We've been so busy that I almost missed Easter--one of the most holy days of my faith, one of my most precious. There haven't been extra discussions on how Jesus came to die from my sins, how desperate and needy I am without him, how alone, wretched, and lost I am without his choosing to come to earth to rescue me.

There have been no crafty Pinterest craft-ivities, no in-depth conversations about how Christ spent each of the days of Holy Week, no homemade Easter dresses for the girls, no acting out washing each other's feet, definitely no bunny or egg crafts.

But that's okay, because I realized something a couple days ago. This entire week (and Lenten season) has been spent thinking on the act and gift and cost of the crucifixion and the hope of the resurrection. We're focusing all our efforts and pennies and efforts on bring home one precious child. With great JOY.

In a very small way, this echoes the story of Easter. Our act of running to rescue Sunshine is not unlike Christ's salvific work on the cross--because he loved me, us so much he completed the task set before him with Joy, because he knew it would bring us home, into the presence of the Father for all eternity.

This to me is beautiful and humbling and powerful--that I could be part of God's work here on earth, that I can extend his love to a new little person.

And now that I see her face and can stare into those eyes, even though I don't know her, every moment, insecurity, doubt, has been transformed into JOY!

From our house to yours, may your Easter weekend be filled with the humbling reminders of what it cost Christ to rescue from the squalor of your sin and Holy Spirit shivers when you are reminded of the grace given to you.

Blessings.

The Least of these

There are so many things I could write about right now. My brain is a jumble of thoughts, emotions, and to-dos. But this is what has been on my heart.

Lately, we've been loving the song Kings & Queens by Audio Adrenaline. The video is beautiful and if you haven't watched it and listened to the words, you need to. Right. Now.

Last night I was struck by something as I was singing through the lyrics in my head. They go like this:

Boys will be Kings,
Girls will be Queens,
wrapped in your majesty
When we love, when we love the least of these.

I have always been uncomfortable by people's assessment that children are "the least."  I've always loved the curiosity, life, love, enthusiasm, creativity, and passion I have seen in the actions of children. I love children, always have.

I love that Jesus called kids to himself. I smile just imagining what that time looked like: did Jesus tickle and hug and laugh with all of them? I think he did. Did he attend to each little boo-boo, no matter how small ? Did he smile widely as yet another child tried to climb into his overfilled lap? I believe so.

I know there are many very, very important people who think that children aren't worth their time, resources or money. And many suffer for it. There are children across the entire world who are neglected, hungry, scared, abused, used as pawns, and forgotten by their families, by their countries, by their churches, by Christians.

But, last night, I realized that my Sunshine, my dear precious girl, is not least. She has a heritage and a name, she has a history and a new family, she has a place in my heart. She is loved by her Creator God.  Her life was bought by Jesus Christ. She has a holy inheritance.

She has been embedded on our hearts, there are few moments when she is not on my thoughts.
She is not forgotten.
She is no longer "least."

A Complicated Dance

A friend of mine used those words to explain this part of adoption and I love the picture. Even now, in the waiting moments (curse you, waiting!) this adoption thing is dreadfully complicated, pitting so many of my emotions against each other that I am a mess. I want to be completely honest about this process because I think it is useful to the conversation.

Let me introduce her to you: Her name means Sunshine (so that is what I'll call her here). She lives in Lesotho, Africa. She will be four this summer.

I haven't yet seen a picture, but I can imagine her: dark skin, dark eyes, chubby cheeks, big smile. I'm already in love. A part of my heart is no longer in Michigan, but over 8,000 miles away.

There are some very real and unexpected emotions going through us right now. You should know.

First, Grief. I am so sad--for Sunshine and her birth mama. Abandonment is a universal truth in adoption. On paper, you know it's true. But seeing hand written words describing those circumstances, imagining how it hurt, it punches you in the gut and wants to rip your heart out. We grieve for Sunshine and her mama.

Anger. I am angry. I am angry at sin and a broken world and realities that make adoption necessary. I am angry at injustice and the fact that there are babies and toddlers and kids and teenagers who have grown up without a family. It is horribly ugly and unfair. It is the result of sin in the world and I lament.

Fear. There are two layers of this going on: One, hair. In American black culture, hair is a big deal. I can't even deal with my own girls' hair. Yeah, I know I shouldn't stress about this, but I do.
Second, I am scared to parent this little girl, to try to help her heal her hurts. Are we strong enough for the grieving of a young child? Because no matter how great an orphanage she comes from and how wonderful a family she enters into, there will be tremendous grief. I don't know if I am enough. I know I'm not enough. That's what Jesus is--but here on earth, I am his representative.

Excitement. Oh yeah. We are excited! We can't wait to meet her. We're talking about what dolls to buy and how to decorate rooms and what size clothes she'll wear. We're wondering what her personality will be like and how she'll fit into our family. We're thinking about traveling and meeting her and how to introduce her to this crazy crew. We are blessed, we are excited. If you ask, I'll probably talk your ear off.

Peace. This one is the weirdest to me and hard to explain. But Sunshine is being cared for at a fantastic orphanage. With people who truly love her. I go to bed at night in peace because I know she is being loved, fed, cared for. She has a strong attachment to her caregivers and they to her. While one would think this would make me anxious and jealous, I'm not. I feel incredible, soul-centering peace. In all my prayers for my child before I knew who she was, I prayed she was safe and loved, even if she was hungry. God answered that prayer in abundance putting her in the care of life-long friends. Just thinking about His goodness in this makes my eyes well up with tears.

Tired. I'm tired. These emotions are exhausting. Eric and I stay up late at night talking about Sunshine, our kids and us and what we know and how we feel. I fall asleep at night praying for her, dreaming about her, imagining her life now and what it will be. We still have a long journey ahead of us, lots of things to figure out and do, but the rest of life marches on with school and work and home.

It is interesting going through this dance, both the here and there, the now and the not yet.

So, there you have it. I told you it was complicated.

But it's a beautiful dance.

Promises

For the past months, I have seen this progression in my own spirit. For the past few days, I have worked hard to say, "God has done it--and it is a beautiful thing!" But I have no idea what God has done yet. Truly, these are hard words to say....

But, we are trying to rest in the knowledge that this has been in God's hands all along. He has always had this journey, even up to this point.

And now, here we are, just a few days away from the meeting (on Wednesday the 20th, if you needed the reminder) that will, one way or another, determine the direction and look of this family. Although we have been waiting for a really long time, this is just the start of our "pregnancy". This meeting is our "ultrasound" where we see real little people for our family. We still have a long period of waiting before we get to hold them in our arms and bring them home.

I can't really tell you when we're going to know anything or when we'll be able to tell you. Actually, chances are good that by the time our day is officially rolling at our house, the meeting will be happening or over. But who knows when the news will reach us.

Today, God used the Sunday school lesson I taught to remind me. Together we learned again about how God keeps his promises: all of them, all the time. Even though the Israelites were scared about the Promised Land, they grumbled and complained about it, and they were punished for their grumbling, God still provided Manna every single day. His promises are good. His promises are true.

And this is my promise to you, faithful friend. We will let you know. At some point, you will share in our joy or our disappointment, as you have shared in our journey thus far. We just don't know when. Please be patient, if you think the waiting is killing you, think of what it's doing to us. And say an extra prayer. It could be a few days.

Already, we can say together:

Shouts of joy and victory

    resound in the tents of the righteous:

“The Lord’s right hand has done mighty things!

¹⁶ 

    The Lord’s right hand is lifted high;

    the Lord’s right hand has done mighty things!”

^17 . 

(Psalm 118:15-16)

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Parenting is hard.

http://www.hallmark.com/products/mothers-day/greeting-cards/behind-every-great-kid-1pgc3643_dk/

Parenting is hard.

Can I get an Amen?

Although there are pretty tough jobs out there, I'm thinking there is nothing harder than trying to parent well. If it's not one kid who is sassing you over every instruction, it's another kid who is willfully disobedient or not paying attention to you at all.

Yesterday was a hard parenting day.

I'm not gonna tell you how, but it was. Let's leave it at that. Someone ended up in their room before dinner ended and stayed there for the rest of the evening.

And then today, I glanced through this article and threw my hands up in the air.

It seems that there isn't much any person can do to parent well these days. No matter where I turn there is one expert or another telling me that what I know or do is wrong. But then turn around and a different expert is telling me that it's right. AHHHH!

And then there is the fact that regardless of how well I parent, how hard I work to overcome the inefficiencies in my own childhood, my kids will grow up with inefficiencies. There will be things about me that drive them nuts.  For as much as I work to teach them to make good choices, love & follow Jesus, eat good food, fill their minds with things that cause them to be creative and smart and informed, they may just choose:
to eat poorly and be unhealthy
to not care about cleanliness
to make bad choices
to be addicted to sex or drugs or alcohol or any number of negative things
to not follow Jesus (I pray not!)
and any number of things....

That is discouraging enough.

But honestly, as hard as parenting is, as real as the fight for my kid's hearts and souls are, there is nothing as frightening as a book about parenting an adopted child.

Seriously.

Two years ago(ish) when we started this journey, we were required to read a number of books on parenting, multicultural families, attachment and bonding, and adoption. We started with this workbook, which we did together. That was great. (Yea, we can talk about all these things--we've got this!) And then we went on to other reads. We started multicultural (yeah, we can do that, have you seen where we live?) to adoption (yeah, things can be tough, but we can do that) to attachment bonding (oh no, we can't do that, but that won't be us). We skimmed through them because we still thought we were awesome parents--our kids hadn't yet showed us the depth of their (and our own) brokenness.

In the two years since that time, I have become far more aware of my flaws and strengths. When you are more aware of such things, reading the one adoption book that has been widely recommended to us, The Connected Child, will totally freak you out.

Everything about parenting an adopted child who you are trying to attach to is different than the instinctive way we parent the kids we have now. Discipline, food, attaching, everything.

And after you have a bad day parenting, the idea of a new kid, whom you don't know, will totally freak you out. (Listen, I'm just keeping this real. Maybe you don't like my terminology or I'm not saying it quite right, but it's different. And sometimes different, all by itself, is just hard.)

If anything scares me right now, it's the idea of failing in parenting a child who has already lost so much. It's the idea that maybe we're wrong, maybe we aren't cut out for this. The needs and demands are sharp and the learning curve is steep. I don't think I'm up for it. The coward in me wants to walk away because of how hard I'm afraid it might be.

But I won't. 'Cause I know that regardless of the children in my home, parenting is just hard.

Lord Jesus, help us do this well.

Your will be done

I wanted to write something wise and deep for this blog--to let you know that we are okay, to tell you that we are hanging on in spite of the many roadblocks in our path, that we are waiting anxiously yet peacefully for the 20th. My thoughts are all jumbled, they run together well in my head, but not so great on paper.

But I have tried, now 4 times, and the words are more than inadequate. They come out whiny, childish, and selfish.

So, let me just say this:

We are a blessed family. In the next two weeks we celebrate two of our wonderful children. We celebrate the love that we have for each other on Valentine's Day. We have the privilege of being surrounded by many (some we see, some we don't) who love us and are praying for us. We have the privilege of participating in our church's 24-7 prayer week, where we will pray that God's light break through darkness in our lives and our world.

Sometimes this journey seems very lonely. But we're not alone.

We are incredibly blessed. And grateful. And humbled.

But we are also challenged. That in this time of waiting that we still live well. That we continue to prepare ourselves (financially, emotionally, spiritually) for the life we desire--the one that includes a couple beautiful children not of our bodies, but born of our hearts. That we not dwell so much on our trials that we forget to see and support the trials of others.

Being in a place of waiting for God's will to be born out is challenging. We have many questions that we don't have answers for. We both toss around a bunch of "what ifs." We try not to borrow trouble from tomorrow, today has enough of it's own. Sometimes we're successful, sometimes we're not.

Ultimately, it is our prayer: "Your will be done. Your kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven."

And if in any way, we can be a part of your kingdom coming, let us do it joyfully and without restraint.

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Ugh

Seriously. 

After 22 months, why does 5 days seem like such a big deal? 

Last night we were informed that the scheduled matching meeting in Lesotho has been postponed until February 20th. It was previously scheduled for the 15th.

I am still processing this news. And while it seems like a rational being would be able to say "huh, okay, they need a few more days to get everything in order." I am no longer a rational being regarding this adoption. I'm trying to say that, but 5 days feels more like a death knell than a promise. I can't offer you any more without sounding a bit like a hyper-emotional, overly-sensitive lunatic. 

We are continuing to wait. Please continue to pray. 

S

Mush

My head and heart are just pure mush these days. I can't keep anything straight. I am forgetting all kinds of things. I can't seem to keep coherent thoughts in my head. I can't focus and you can forget about any sort of motivation to get concrete work done.

I may not be actively thinking about it every moment of the day, but this matching meeting is heavy on my heart.

There is so much to do in the next two weeks--our lives are full! February is traditionally a big month in our house. There are two birthdays to celebrate and lots of activities surrounding Valentine's Day. I need my head on straight. I need to get some things done.

There isn't much else to say. And if there was, it totally slipped my mind.

Our Journey Continues...

When I was a senior in high school, I encountered the most devastating time in my young life. My best friend had dumped me and a cherished boyfriend dumped me. I had been ousted from my place on the basketball team by three freshman. And then, the only college that I wanted to attend, wait-listed me.

I was devastated. 

I had no other plan. 

And then someone suggested I apply to Calvin. "They accept anyone with money." Yeah, that felt great. Long story short: I was accepted, but they didn't have a program I liked. And then, there was the added complication of this guy who went to school there. But I didn't want to choose that school just because of a guy. 

I was in utter turmoil. The whole world was against me. What in the world did God want for me? What was his will? Where was I supposed to go to college? If I went to Calvin, what would I major in? And what about that guy? Could I screw this whole thing up somehow? 

Needless to say, I didn't handle that time in my life very well. My angst was well-fitted to my teenage life. 

Fast forward a few years. 

This is a pivotal time for our family. I could very easily look at my life as I did in high school, uncertain, insecure, questioning, doubting, not sure of what God was doing.

On February 15th, there is a scheduled matching meeting in Lesotho. At this meeting, our dossier will be presented and, Lord willing, matched with waiting orphans. This is easily a more tenuous time than back when I was 18. But, I have noticed something, I am not nearly so unsure of God's plan for my life. 

Do I know how it turns out? No.

Am I worried? Not really. Don't worry, there are plenty of scenarios where things go could 'wrong' (i.e. not according to my plan)

Why am I not worried? 

God has this entire thing squarely in the palm of his hand. He knows everything: how long we've waited, what our desires are, where are hearts are, the journey we've travelled to get to this point. And because of this, I have great confidence in his plan--not that it is easy or what I want, but that it is GOOD, all the time. 

With that in mind, however, I know that God listens to the prayers of his people. We can all approach his throne with confidence, knowing that his Spirit intercedes on our behalf. 

Eric and I would ask you to join us in three weeks of concentrated prayer regarding our adoption. Will you join us by praying? We have very specific requests:

• That this meeting happen as scheduled, that all waiting families will be matched with waiting orphans. 
•  It is our deepest heart's desire to bring home a brother/sister sibling set. Will you pray boldly that God provide this for our family?
• There are details and timing issues relevant to our specific case that only God can work out. Will you pray that God works out every detail--from trip timing to paperwork to embassy meetings?
• Finally, we are starting to prepare for a 3-4 week trip to Africa. Although there are many, many details to work out to travel as 5 and return as 7, our biggest concern is financial. Pray that God provide abundantly for our plane tickets, three week stay in Africa, our expenses to maintain our home while we are gone, and our homecoming. 
• Finally (for real) that God is honored and glorified through this whole process: our waiting, our kids, our homecoming. Although we have these requests, these desires of our hearts, truly, we want His will to be done in our lives and in our family. 

Staying the course....

So here is the moment where I tell the world how awesome my husband is because he told us to wait.

So we waited. And waited.

I asked Eric, "Can we check now? Can we ask more questions? Let's make a decision."

And he said, "No, Let's wait until we hear from our social worker."

And finally, this week we received official word that our adoption case will be grandfathered into Lesotho.

Take a moment to let that sink in. It's taken me a few days.

We don't need to make any decisions. We don't need to decide to change countries. We don't need to figure out how to change all our paperwork.

We are being grandfathered in. So somewhere in Lesotho my next child(ren) is waiting, just as we are waiting here.

And there is a matching meeting on February 8.

So on or before February 8--we will know who will join this crazy family.

Thank you for your love to us during these very emotionally difficult past few weeks. We are so very, very, very blessed to be surrounded by such good people.

Does any of this feel real? Nope, not yet, probably not until the day our kids come home will it be real. Until then we pray--for their protection and safety, for their hearts and for ours.

And Josh would ask that you pray it's a boy....

It would be so easy...

to quit.

to just walk away.

to say it's too hard.

to decide that we were wrong.

Or at least that's what we tell ourselves. Because that is the answer that makes sense right now: since we have no idea what to do and we can't seem to discern answers and this unknown-kind-of-waiting is really hard, let's just quit.

Quit this waiting pattern that we have been living in for 18 months. Quit the money woes that accompany a process that has suddenly become more expensive than we bargained for. Quit the hard emotional work of preparing ourselves to bring home broken and needy children.

Then we take a deep breath.

Pause for a moment.

Remember that God is faithful even when we can't see or feel his presence. And He is good, all the time.

Trust that there are broken and needy children for our family. Trust that we are strong enough to withstand this. Trust that God is big enough to provide and gracious enough to bestow us with gifts we don't deserve.

And we take a step back from the edge of the cliff of our cowardice where we think that quitting would be easy. We begin to think rational thoughts again. We say to each other, "here are our options." And funnily  enough, quitting really isn't one of them.

As far as updates go: we are still waiting for some very specific answers from Lesotho. A clear 'yes' or a clear 'no' which will determine the course of our adoption. We don't expect these to come for at least a week, probably two.

Our prayers in these days have been feeble and weak because they are full of fear and desperate need. We are trying to hold on to the calling we received, but it is so hard because God seems silent. Would you pray for us and on our behalf? Pray for clear answers and discernment and encouragement. Pray for us as we try to navigate these emotions and still be good parents to the children we have right now. Pray that God gives us focus in the meantime (it's a busy season in our house--distractions make things tougher...)

And thank you. Because without friends like you, who love us and keep us accountable, quitting would be a whole lot easier.

Learning to wait, again.

What a strange, emotional week.

This week is almost surreal with the different incredible highs and lows.

On the adoption front, we know nothing more than we knew a week ago, except that it is clear we need to wait until after December 1 to get any answers at all. We have spent our week asking questions we don't have answers too and wondering if any chance happenings were supposed to be telling us something. We have opened our ears to listen and heard....silence.

I know who I am and waiting patiently without answers is very difficult for me. If there is a question or angle to inquire about, I will. In my humanness, I want to push--push our social worker, push government representatives, push, push, push. Force answers I want right now when it is abundantly clear that answers aren't for this moment.

Waiting is hard. This waiting is agonizing for me. I've had low moments, searching the internet for answers that aren't to be found there.

Early in the week, a friend sent me this quote from Henri Nouwen.

To wait open-endedly is an enormously radical attitude toward life. So is to trust that something will happen to us that is far beyond our imaginings. So, too, is giving up control over our future and letting God define our life, trusting that God moulds us according to God's love and not according to our fear. The spiritual life is a life in which we wait, actively present to the moment, trusting

 that new things will happen to us, new things that are far beyond our own imagination, fantasy, or prediction. That, indeed, is a very radical stance toward life in a world preoccupied with control. - H. Nouwen 

At first, I totally glanced over it, not wanting to really read it. But over the week I have gone back over it time and again and found that open-ended waiting is what is being forced upon me, that i have to wait and trust and believe that God has something phenomenal waiting for me, for us, for our family. I am working hard to fight back my fears and not let grief for the process not overwhelm me.

There have been times this week when I simply wanted to go to bed, hide away, not think, sleep. Anything to escape the questions I can't answer. But I didn't. I might not have been a total champion when it came to parenting and home-keeping this week, but I made it.

And then God brought in a total, complete surprise. The editor who had asked for a portion of my work has asked for the rest of my manuscript. And that has me over-the-moon excited. My work was supposed to get a polite rejection, which was okay and what I had prepared myself for. So now, instead  of having permission to push my manuscript to the side, I now have about 6 weeks to start/finish a serious re-write/edit process. My brain is now completely scrambled as I think about how to accomplish this ginormous task--and have holidays, travel, school, and the rest of life thrown in for good measure.

But this is a gift of God's goodness. Although I still expect a polite rejection, it is a delicious distraction. I have plenty to do, plenty to keep my mind busy, plenty to do and think--so much that I don't have a ton of extra energy to focus on things in our adoption that I cannot affect or change.

This already is far beyond any of my 'imaginings'. I am remarkably blessed.

Status Report Mr. Spock. . .

This blog has been silent a lot lately. 

So I thought it was time to break silence with a bit of a status report. 

But let's back up a bit to see where we are. Exactly 17 months ago, Eric and I decided to go forward and begin proceedings on a sibling adoption from Lesotho. We are still currently waiting for there to be a matching meeting where our dossier will be matched with a waiting sibling set. We have no idea when this meeting could be. It could be next week, could be next year. 

About 10 months ago, Eric was asked to consider applying for a new job. He did--got the job and started it at the end of April. 

Since these two things have happened (or not happened), our lives have been turned completely upside down. There really is no other way to describe these past few months. We've combined the major, life-changing actions of job change with the emotional up-and-down process of an adoption. We have been totally changed, yet I have a difficult time explaining exactly how. 

About the time that we were considering the new job, I heard a song that changed my perspective. This job came with a significant cut in pay. As we were struggling with what that would look like, I heard this song (Choose song #7--Enough) by Shaun Groves. 

The text is from Proverbs 30:7-9 and reads like this:

Two things I ask of you, Lord;
    do not refuse me before I die:
⁸ Keep falsehood and lies far from me;
    give me neither poverty nor riches,
    but give me only my daily bread. 
⁹ Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you
    and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’ 
Or I may become poor and steal,
    and so dishonor the name of my God.

And in that moment, that was my prayer, that whatever happened we would have enough. Primarily, at that time, my concern was money. Just enough money to pay our bills and pay adoption expenses. (Side note: my dad once told me that such prayers were foolish--now I understand what he meant, not to not pray them, but that they often have results that we could never imagine.)

But instead in these months of transition, waiting, uncertainty, and change, God has given us only enough of everything. 

• Enough failure to make us dependent on Him and each other;
• Enough (barely) sleep and coffee to make us function;
• Enough hope (but not much) that someday this adoption will actually happen;
• Enough friends and family supporting us to know that God has hands and feet to carry us when we need it; 
• Enough money to meet our requirements (but my definition of enough seems to be more differ slightly from God's).

And we've been fortunate to have our eyes opened that in some powerful, life-changing ways, he's given more than enough:

      -More grace and forgiveness than I have ever deserved

      -More blessings in the form of the love & joy of my family than I had ever realized

So what's our status? To be honest, we're hanging in there. Some days are smooth and easy, some days we want to throw in every towel we have, hunker down inside our home and close our ears and eyes to the world, some days we want to quit--because waiting is hard and emotional and there are no easy answers, no clear paths and life was easier then. 

How are we going to make it? Simple, we wait--wait for God and his provision and timing and grace. We wake up each morning and thank God for the day that we are given and use it to his glory, whether in the workplace or in our home. We pray for ourselves, our family, and our kids waiting to come home. We keep our eyes open to the magnificent ways God blesses us in every single season, day, hour and minute (even when we don't always understand). 

And we will remember, no matter how we feel, that God is a good God

All the time. 

Matching Fail

This is not the post I wanted to write.

It just isn't.

On Monday night we were informed that our family was to be presented at a orphan matching meeting in Lesotho. At these matching meetings the government brings all the approved dossiers and the orphanages bring the files of the orphaned children. The Social Workers then go through the lists and make matches. Sounds simple, right?

Not if all the correct paperwork isn't done.

So after a nervous couple of days (is this for real? are they out there? could our family be different already? are they safe and healthy and whole? do they have enough food?)

And some more nervous thoughts in the quiet moments of my days (Oh no, are we ready for this? what is the timing going to look like? where is the money for travel going to come from?)

Finally, we received word that the meeting happened as scheduled but no new cases were presented because the appropriate paperwork on the children was not complete.

This is both good and horrible. It's good because the government is making sure correct procedure is followed, hopefully protecting these little ones.

It's horrible because there are many eligible orphans waiting in institutions for a forever family and the hold up is PAPERWORK! Children in need of love and food and protection and good night kisses and family have to wait longer because someone doesn't know how to fill out the paperwork (at this point it's a bit difficult to keep my anger in check).

So long story short: meeting fortold, hopes risen, meeting happens, no matches, hopes dashed, difficult days follow.

Friends, this is an incredibly emotional, roller-coaster sort of process. I can't really compare it to anything else. A friend who is also in this said that it was a little like being sure you are pregnant and taking a pregnancy test and getting a negative. But more hurtful.

I don't have much else to say. It's just tough.

I know that my God is watching over my kids, I know his hand is around our family on both continents, I know that this will work out in his perfect timing, I know he is in control.

But that doesn't make the emotions any less real. It doesn't keep it from hurting. It's just tough.

Peace (at least that's what I'm aiming for)