End of School!!!

Roughing it on the Oregon Trail
(especially when you have to mash your own
cornmeal from popcorn kernals using a meat tenderizer)

Even though this has probably been the craziest year known to our family yet, we did manage to accompish a good deal of school. Starting at the French Revolution and Sir/King/Emporer Napoleon and ending just after the Civil War and the reunification of the US, we covered a lot of fun history. The Oregon Trail & Wagon Trains. The Trail of Tears. The beginnings of inventions that ushered in the Industrial Age.

Look, we made compound!

We learned more about writing and math and thinking and problem solving.

We ran laps and played games and learned more about sports (even if they weren't loved by all).

We were part of a Bible Study that led us to study, more deeply, the book of John and the life of Jesus Christ.

Art Prize with our Field Trip Group

We toured around West Michigan on field trips with friends.

Baking Class!

Most importantly, we all grew up a little bit (or a lot bit), realizing that we are each part of a unique family that has to work hard together. Mostly, though, the kids just think we make them work too hard. They've learned how to change their sheets and sort the laundry, how to read a recipe and measure out ingredients, how to work together to clean up after dinner (so Mommy doesn't have to do it all).

Although it wasn't the year I expected or planned, it was a good year. There were plenty of stops and starts. Three separate weeks of walking pneumonia--one week for each kid. A sudden book deadline that no one expected. Finally, a referral which is leading to a family trip in only a week.

Olivia--Leaving Kindergarten

But we've laughed a lot, we've read some good books, we've had fun.

Josh--Leaving 3rd

It was a good year!

 

Katie--Leaving 2nd 

Class Picture May 1, 2013
Jersey Junction
(because every school year needs to end with ice cream!)

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.

Nothing is impossible with God

How do I even begin this post?

So many thoughts, so few words

In the past 24 hours, we have (finally) learned how God plans to add to our family. We are thrilled to announce the addition of a little girl to this crazy family.  There have been many moments of tear-filled eyes, goose bumps, excited screams, and confirmation.

We are:
     Awe struck
     The recipent of such amazing grace
     Humbled
     Excited
     A bit scared
     Unworthy of such a beautiful gift

How do I put into words the feelings in my heart?
The inexplicable, unmeasurable, instantaneous love.

She's real, this child of my heart!

I have another Daughter. God, give us strength for the journey to come.

God has orchestrated a miracle beyond my comprehension. He saw my deepest desire, saw my brokenness, heard my heart and gave me a gift that I hardly deserve.

God, make me worthy to be her mother, to bind her wounds, to help her meet your Son and receive your grace.

There's so much left to know: a name, a birthdate, her history. We haven't even seen a picture yet. All those things will come in time.

For all the struggle to get to this moment, there are many more ahead. We want her home, now. We want to hold her in our arms and comfort her fears and dry her tears. We want to be a complete family, to laugh and play together. But those things are yet to come.

God, hold her, every moment of every day. Keep her safe in your arms until she can be in ours.

Right now we savor this milestone.

We are are so very blessed.


²³ 

The Lord has done this,

    and it is marvelous in our eyes.

²⁴ 

The Lord has done it this very day;

    let us rejoice today and be glad.

Psalm 118:23&24