Quirky

After several days weeks of angst and paranoia and pre-adoptive parent induced psychosis (it's a real diagnosis, trust me), and after reassurance and prayer from those who have gone before (THANK YOU), I decided I was done with the pity-party. DONE, I tell you. I wanted to MOVE ON. And then who should post the funniest, laugh-out-loud blog ever in the history of the world but adoptive mom/writer/speaker Jen Hatmaker.

Quirky by Jen Hatmaker. You must read it. But be warned - you may pee your pants from laughing so hard, especially if you scroll through the comments, too. Who knew there were so many crazy quirky people in the world! Outside my own family, I mean.

My quirks I come by genetically. The fact that I cannot, CANNOT, turn the correct direction after leaving a store/hotel room/building I attribute directly to my mom. Our internal compass must have been installed upside down. But the worst thing is that I KNOW I'm directionally challenged, so I try to second-guess (and third-guess and forth-guess) myself, which often results in a little dance. This way, no, I always guess wrong so twist and turn, this way, no, that can't be right, twist and turn and cha cha cha. Makes my husband crazy.

Bursting into song, and then making up my own words to said song and sometimes changing the tune entirely from its creator's intention - my dad's fault. "Two Frogs and a Goat" was considered classic musicality when I was growing up. Never heard of it? I'm happy to sing it for you. At random and inopportune moments.

Sam cannot bear to be almost touched. That's right - almost touched. You can poke her, punch her (careful, not hard, she'll punch back), wrestle her, tickle her and she's fine. But hover your finger just a few inches over her bare skin and she freaks. Makes her crazy. (Useful information for all would-be sibling tormentors. You are welcome).

Trent...um, he said I can't go there. But it has to do with styrofoam. And the sound it makes rubbing against cardboard. He's cringing just thinking about it.

What does this have to do with our adoption journey? I don't know. I just needed to laugh. And it's fun to think about our quirks and where they come from. Mine are genetic. Sam's not so much. (Almost-touch me or Trent all you want. We don't care.) I'm eager to get to know Pac-man, to embrace his personality, to learn about his quirks. Cuz we all got em. Some are just more...interesting...than others.

I Believe

I can't say I've been excited about the Christmas season this year. In fact, the turning of the calendar page from November 30th to December 1st launched me full-scale into Kubler-Ross's Stages of Grief:

• Denial - It is NOT December. It isn't. Someone made a mistake with the cosmic calendar system. I am quite sure that 2011 is some sort of backward leap year and it is still September. So, who wants to tailgate before the high school football game? (And no, high school football is NOT over! Sheesh!)
• Anger - Seriously? December? This is so unfair! Who fast-forwarded October and November? Whose fault is this? I will CUT you.
• Bargaining - Listen, if we could just postpone Christmas this year for a teeny tiny bit...just a couple of months...I swear I'll be the holliest, jolliest, carol singingest, do-unto-others doingest Christmas celebrant ever in the history of the world! I promise!
• Depression - I cry over pictures. I cry over emails. I cry at Christmas commercials. A 30-second elf-on-the-shelf video, with an adorable brown-eyed, mischievous looking sprite sent me into paroxysms of grief.
• Acceptance - This I'm still working on. But it is Christmas. And it's not about me.

The feelings I have this Christmas remind me, in some ways, of our first Christmas without Trent's father. The holidays snuck up on us that year, too, as missing him rent a hole in the holiday celebrations. This year we are missing someone we don't even know except through pictures, but whom we've come to love, and whom we had hoped would be with us.

When we began the adoption process last Christmas, I knew the time frame varied anywhere from six months to two years (or more). But somehow I got it in my head that our son would be with us by November. I didn't tell anyone but Trent, but this idea was confirmed by the comments of others who innocently enabled my delusions. Every well-meaning "Maybe he'll be with you by Thanksgiving" turned into some sort of sign from God that yes, in fact, he would. 

When, despite my denial, November came and went without the necessary processing of the adoption paperwork, I questioned God. I questioned myself. Had He fallen asleep on the job? Had I misunderstood? What does it mean that we must celebrate Christmas without our little boy, that he must celebrate Christmas without his new family? Where do we stand now? What is God trying to tell me?

While crying over the idea of sending out Christmas cards without the smiling face of a particular brown-eyed, mischievous looking sprite I ran into a Bible verse from the Christmas story I'm sure I'd read before, but to which I'd never paid much attention. It's in Luke, when newly pregnant Mary visits her cousin Elizabeth. Elizabeth says, "Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her," Luke 1:45.

Who has believed... This adoption journey has allowed me to confront many weaknesses. Not an especially fun process, let me tell you. Until we began seriously to discuss adopting, I hadn't realized I harbored so much doubt. But, for me, this adoption journey has been filled with doubt. I won't go into all the details, but here's a link to a great post about the many stages of doubt, disillusionment, worry, angst, joy, outrage, exhilaration that I, too, have experienced. (I think the author may have been spying on me). Still, in the midst of this doubt, there is one promise I know to be true: My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness (2 Cor. 12:9).

God didn't promise an easy road. He didn't promise quick governmental processing or sympathetic bureaucratic officials or clear communication. He didn't promise to work the timetable around softball season or the national sales conference or the deadline to register for school. He didn't promise November.

But He does promise that he will be with us ("Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go," Joshua 1:9) and that he will overcome ("In the world you will have trouble; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world,"  John 16:33). 

Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her.

I Believe.

Impatience Means...

Impatience does not mean I don't trust in God's timing.

Impatience does not mean I don't see God's hand in our adoption journey in countless incredible ways.

Impatience does not mean I don't have faith in God's mental, emotional, spiritual and physical protection of our child while he is waiting.

Impatience does not mean I don't believe in God's power to heal the trauma our child has faced and will face.

Impatience does not mean I don't have confidence in our agency.

Impatience does not mean I am jealous of others' adoption journeys (although it may mean that a tiny bit.)

Impatience does not mean I'm unwilling to sacrifice my selfishness on the altar of faith.

Impatience does not mean I am not daily turning my worries about all-that-could-be-difficult-or-go-wrong over to God.

Impatience simple means:

I miss my child.

Impatience means I ache to hold him; to play with him; to show him that he is loved, he is worthy, and he belongs.

In Training

I have a couple of friends who run marathons. On purpose. They train for months and months then they pay hard-earned money and often travel to other states to run nonstop for four to six hours while their toenails fall off and their muscles seize up and they chaff in unmentionable places.  They post things like "15 miles in the rain makes me feel 50% more hard core as a runner." They think this is fun.

I think this is borderline psychotic.

I have run a few MINI-marathons, so I know whereof I speak. Running 13.1 miles straddles that line between God-only-gave-me-one-body-so-I'm-going-to-take-care-of-it physical fitness and I-am-a-bit-sadistic-so-I'm-going-to-run-until-I-throw-up insanity. Anything beyond that is completely-over-the-edge crazy.

Not that I would ever say that out loud. No, out loud I'm all, "Good luck on Saturday, Rick! Twenty six point two - Woohoo!"

What seems crazy to me gives the estimated 1% of the US population who run marathons a sense of accomplishment, of challenge met and overcome, of peace, of honor, of physical and mental endurance, of spiritual connection. Also it's a good excuse to buy top-of-the-line running shoes every three months.

Sometimes the adoption journey feels like training for a marathon. It's mentally and emotionally and even physically grueling. It seems to take FOREVER. I haven't lost a toenail, but I have broken out in hives. ON MY FACE. I know there are people who think I am crazy ("she already has a perfectly good family, why does she want to go through this bureaucratic nightmare and travel overseas and potentially throw their entire life into turmoil?") even if out loud they are all, "oh, you're adopting, that's so wonderful." Because, yes, it IS wonderful, but it is also messy and painful and ragged and raw and quite possibly borderline psychotic.

But even if they think I've gone completely off the deep end I'm thankful for those friends who don't actually say this but instead continue to figure out ways to support this crazed pre-adoptive mama. Those friends who listen to THE SAME prayer request week after week and who actually pray for me and Trent and Sam and that little boy in Africa week after week. Those friends who are okay with my frustrations and my doubts and my grief and who even enter into those emotions with me. Those friends who have never even met me yet take the time to love on our little guy and give us glimpses of his life. Those friends who have or who are running their own adoption journey but who manage to respond to my many, many questions. Those friends who invite me to the Melting Pot for a girls night out.

Because even if our journey seems crazy this is exactly where God wants us. We're in training for something, something big, so step-by-step we'll pound it out. We will run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfector of faith.

Stress? Me? Why Do You Ask?

The last week-and-a-half has been a roller coaster of emotions. Last Tuesday, 10/18, we received confirmation about a meeting between the Lesotho Department of Social Welfare and the adoption agency representatives on 10/20. We felt compelled to cover this meeting with some major prayer action. I went so far as to fast, which my friends know isn't my favorite Spiritual discipline and does weird things to me physically. Still, this was important.

On Monday morning, 10/24, I learned that my former boss and mentor, Gary Rowe, died after a six year battle with cancer. While I take comfort in knowing that he is now free from pain and surely enjoying heaven to the fullest, his death makes this world a little lot less vibrant.

While mourning this loss, we received news from our adoption agency that the meeting with Social Welfare went well and that our adoption can proceed. HOORAH! Except, while celebrating, a well-meaning-but-asks-too-many-questions friend asked what that meant - proceed. We realized we have no idea. Next step? No idea. So I scrambled to arrange a face-to-face meeting with our adoption agency director on Friday, which I can just pull off if I drive like a maniac to Indianapolis for Gary's funeral, spend the night, and break the sound-barrier getting to the agency before needing to arrive back in Louisville for work. Now I just need to figure out what questions I need to ask. I don't know what I don't know.

MEANWHILE, our dog got into the garbage (again!) and ended up spending two days at the vet with salmonella poisoning.

We are also in the thick of refinancing, which I thought would be a good idea until I remembered I have a deep distrust of mortgage companies in general (no offense to our super-great mortgage broker whom I love) coupled with an OCD need to understand the ridiculously complicated fees and credits and cost-breakdowns involved in refinancing. (Why math people can't use WORDS is beyond me.)

Oh, and Trent went out of town.

In the midst of all of this, I broke out in hives. ON MY FACE. It got so bad I went to the doctor, who, perplexed ("Did you know your ear is really red and swollen? How bizarre! I've never seen this before."), brought in a ginormous book on dermatological oddities as well as medical backup to figure out what was wrong with me. Allergies? Don't think so. Rosacea? No. A rare, obscure fugus from the depths of the African rainforest. Um...no? Finally, the doctor asked, "Have you been under any stress lately? Sometimes hives can be caused by an excessive amount of the stress hormone cortisol."

Have I been under any stress lately? Hahahahahaha ha ha ha! No, no more than usual. Why do you ask?

Rally the Troops!

I learn best through story. So whenever I think about prayer warriors, I think about the pastor in Frank Peretti's This Present Darkness. The pastor feels compelled to pray for his church and for the people in his small town. Unbeknownst to him, his prayers and the prayers of the other believers give God's angels the authority and the power to battle against the demonic forces attacking the town. It's a serious offensive against the powers of this dark world. The church grows, lives are saved, and the bad guys go down!

So now, when God's people pray, I imagine God giving the go-ahead for his angelic troops to launch an all-out spiritual offensive. And right now, I'm feeling the need for some serious spiritual intervention.

This Thursday, 10/20, at 8:30 am Eastern Time (2:30 pm Lesotho Time), there is an important meeting about adoptions in Lesotho between the Lesotho Department of Social Welfare and the adoption agency representatives. It is heavy on my heart to cover this meeting from top to bottom with all-out prayer action. Rally the troops! Forward, CHARGE!

1) Pray for clarity of roles and processes and for relationships to be healed and clarified.

2) Pray against confusion and the spirit of competition and control.

3) Pray for cooperation and a focus on the best interests of orphaned and vulnerable children in Lesotho. And here I seriously mean the BEST interests. I don't propose that adoption is the best option for every orphaned and vulnerable child, but it is the best for some. (That's another blog post in itself.) The determination requires much wisdom and discernment.

4) Pray that God will act mightily to defend the weak and  the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and oppressed; rescue the weak and the needy (Psalm 8:2).

5) Pray that God will continue to flood P. with a peace that comes from knowing he is loved, he belongs, and he has an identity.

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Ephesians 6:12

Can a Girl Really Not Have Too Many Shoes?

This post isn't really about adoption. Well, I guess it is, in a way, about adoption finances. Because adoptions cost like a gazillion dollars, and we still have about a quarter of a gazillion to save, so we are ON.A.BUDGET. An every-penny-has-a-name-rank-and-serial-number budget.

So, here's a hypothetical. Imagine my daughter is a dancer. (I SAID it was a hypothetical!) Imagine she dances at a private Christian school. (Sounds like the start of a joke, doesn't it. But I digress.) She's been dancing for a little over a year, and she likes it a lot because her friends dance, too, but it's probably not God's future career for her. She's in the B corps and she's very content with this because the A corps girls are just a bit intimidating.

Last year, when she started dancing (this is just making me laugh. Okay. Sorry. I'm better). When she started dancing she had to buy lots of gear. Well, everybody had to buy lots of gear because the dance teachers wanted everyone in the A corps and the B corps to match. Dance teams do that, you know. So we bought all the gear. Matchy-matchy. Adorable. Now it's her second year, and the A corps teacher wants all the girls in A corps and B corps to buy new shoes. Again. These are practically identical to last year's shoes, mind you, except the new version has a tiny bit more mesh tulle (it is tulle, isn't it?) on the front.

Sam did, in fact, dance at one point in her life. And she was amazing. And oh, so cute. But when she changed the steps to kick ball karate chop, we figured she needed a new discipline.


BTW...those sweet little tap shoes were USED.


Now, practical me thinks, "Why does she need new shoes? Her old shoes still fit. (Praise God her foot growth has slowed dramatically! Which probably means she's nearly done growing, too. Which probably means she won't reach the dance teacher's hoped for height of six feet.) Her old shoes are still in good shape. Her old shoes are almost identical. PLUS, she also has her practice shoes. She doesn't need to buy new shoes. Who needs three pairs of dance shoes?"

The mother-of-a-teenager thinks, "I don't want her to feel left out, however, or to be the ONLY ONE without new dance shoes. Just buy the shoes." (Full disclosure, that was actually father-of-a-teenager's thinking. He's such a good dad!)

So we tell Sam her coach dance teacher wants the team to buy new shoes. She says, "Why? My other shoes are still good. I don't need new shoes. Why can't we put that money toward the adoption?"

HALLELUJAH! That's my girl right there. She said that, she really, really, did! She can shop with the best of them, but she does not WANT new dance shoes!

So I email the dance teacher and ask if Sam can use her shoes from last year. Teacher replies, "Yes she can but she will not be allowed to dress for the A team should she make it."

Now, perhaps this is less complicated than I'm making it. But for some reason I have gone all Sybil on this and my different personalities can't agree on how to respond.

Busy Working Mom Personality: Okay, no new shoes, check. Now, who's doing carpool today?

Dance Mom Personality: A team? Seriously? She has a shot at A team? Is she that  good? She must be that good. Wow. I had no idea. But, when I really think about it, of course she's that good. She is my child. I'd better buy the shoes, just to show that I am behind her 100% and will do whatever it takes and...wow, maybe Juilliard is next. Then the New York Ballet. Then she'll buy me a new house.

Radical Christian Personality: Are you kidding? Say she DOES make the A team (which is unlikely because she'll probably be on a mission trip the day of tryouts), then you're telling me she can't dance if she doesn't have the right kind of shoes? How can anyone call themselves a Christian dance team and place more importance on shoes than they do on orphans? (Insert self-righteous head bob.)

Avoid Confrontation Personality: Just shut up and buy the shoes. There are worse things.

I know I can get all weird about money, an issue I attribute directly to my mom and her apoplectic fit when my brother took her credit card and bought a $150 pair of Jordans (ah, the 80's). And I'm probably thinking too much. But I'm really trying to figure this out. I do think the question stretches past shoes and into materialism, excess and consumerism, which, at least for me, can easily become an idol. Does the dance team REALLY need new gear every year? Does this really impact their success on the dance court floor? Does this impact their witness? (And if so, for good or for ill?) This issue of simplicity versus materialism and where-is-the-balance? is something God is trying to work out in me. But I don't know all the answers. So I'm seeking wise counsel.

What do you think?

The Muddle in the Middle

I have a confession to make. And I apologize in advance to all my reading and writing friends who thought you knew me and will now be forced to rethink whether to admit that you've ever once asked me for editing advice.

When I read, I sometimes jump ahead to the end.

I know. I said I was sorry. I can't help it. It's a sickness.

I don't read much. A page or two at most. Just enough to make sure that the characters I've grown to know and love survive to the end. If they all get killed off, why waste the emotional energy to keep reading through all the turmoil? I just want to know that the good guy wins and the bad guy gets his. Once I've got that sorted out, then I can settle in and enjoy the ride.

So, that may explain why just now, stuck as we are in the no-there-is-still-no-news-yes-I-know-it-has-been-a-long-time MIDDLE of this adoption process I have been contemplating taking something just a wee bit stronger than Tylenol PM to get me through the night. Can a sister get a hook up? Seriously.

I so desperately want to skip ahead to the end of the story. I want to know that we will survive this journey. I want to know that Pacman* will survive this journey. My heart is literally breaking for this little boy. Abandoned. Vulnerable. Desperately needing to belong, to be loved. How long must he wait? He needs a family. We need a little boy. Seems a relatively easy plot line, right?

In novel writing, middles are notoriously difficult. They must link the call to adventure in the beginning to the resolution at the end. Middles contain all those tests and trials that are meant to build character. I love reading a good middle - the more suspense the better. (So long as I know it all turns out okay at the end.) I'm always encouraging my writing students to add more difficulties, more problems, more tension. In story, conflict equals excitement. In real life, not so much fun.

Not only are we stuck in the middle, we are stuck in a SLOW middle. I'd be getting bored if it weren't so desperately heartbreaking. Just when I think I can't slog through another day of waiting, guess what? Another day of waiting. "Pace of story too slow." "Needs some action." I was hoping for a hi-lo adventure. Instead I fear we've landed in a Victorian epic. A long, drawn out treatise with lots of sighs and a fair amount of whining (mine).

The middle is hard. Hard, hard, tear-my-hair-out hard.

But I will believe - even when I'm crying and whining and asking "are we there YET?" and "how much longer?" - that God has this story well in hand. He's the author. He knows this struggle through the middle, and he's right here with us. He knows about the bureaucratic red tape and the unanswered emails and the months-long delays. And what's more, He's right there in the middle with Pacman. In the quiet loneliness of nighttime at the orphanage, He is there. When Pacman watches others meet their forever families while he is left behind, God is there. When Pacman wonders if he will ever again be loved or belong, God is there. "I will never leave you nor forsake you."

Yes, God knows our middle, but even better,  God knows how it resolves. He's even given us a sneak peek at the end - "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted" (Matt 5:4); "I will not leave you as orphans, I will come to you" (John 14:18); "He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away" (Rev. 21:4).

The middle is hard. The end is joy-filled. The middle is slow. The end is perfectly timed. The middle is filled with turmoil. The end is redeemed.

* Not his real name. Although it is catchy.

A Generation To Save

Random Thoughts about Patience

So, waiting stinks. Of all the fruits of the Spirit, patience is, I think, the least appealing. Everybody likes love, joy, peace. Those are the apples, strawberries, oranges of Galatians 5:22-23. Yum. Patiences is like a ... a key lime. Sour and unappetizing on its own. A key lime only masquerades as a fruit. In reality it needs sugar and cream cheese to be palatable.

Or tequila.

Ambrose Bierce defined patience as: A minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue. Patience is the medicine of the righteous life. You know it's good for you, but like fish oil it tastes terrible and gives you the burps.

I am well practiced at counseling others to be patient. I'm good at it, even. I have the Scriptures and the stories to emphasize the truth that "those who wait on the Lord will find new strength" (Isaiah 40:13). I believe in the theory of patience, just not the actuality of it. There's a word for that, for someone who can talk the talk but can't walk the walk. A self-righteous liar liar with a big mouth, and also probably grossly obese. Oh, yeah - hypocrite.

So, yesterday I was thinking I need to practice my patience muscle. Because I want to believe, and I want to act like I believe, that God has control of every detail of this adoption, including the timing. That God is using this time of waiting to work mightily in P's heart and mind; in my heart and mind. That one day this waiting will bear GOOD fruit (apples, strawberries and oranges.) That He KNOWS about the obstructionistic government bureacrats who are currently mucking things up and He has them well in hand. (I'm also wanting to believe that if these bureacrats don't get their act together soon, then lightning is going to fly. 'Nough said.)

Unfortunately, practicing the patience muscle is about as much fun as running laps. It's boring, it's sweaty, and it gives me a stitch in my side. So yesterday I decided I might as well start running again. (I've run approximately four times since quitting the mini-marathon training last February. What was I saying about walking the walk?) My new goal is to run every day regularly until we travel. That'll teach me, won't it? If I'm in emotional agony with the waiting, I might as well be in physical agony, too. And besides, running is GOOD for me. (And it takes care of the hippo part of hypocrite.) I LIKE the way I feel when I'm running regularly. Not DURING the actual running part, of course, but later, when I'm finished and realize I don't have to run again for 24 hours.

That's Plan A. Plan B - key limes and tequila.

Words of Advice

It has been a tough day on the adoption front. We got word that the Department of Social Welfare in country has concerns about various and assorted matters, one of which has to do with P's orphanage, and that there has been "no forward movement on families who have already received a referral."

I ache for P. Is he getting enough to eat? Is there someone who will bandage his knee when he falls? Give him a hug before bedtime? Remind him he is loved? With every day that he spends in the orphanage I worry more and more about his emotional and spiritual health. When will he come home? Will we be able to help him overcome his hurts and his grief?

In the midst of my worries, I got a letter from a child I had previously worked with in foster-to-adopt. He was placed in foster care when he was seven years old. At that time, he struggled mightily with grief for his birth mother. He fought, literally fought, attaching to his adoptive family. He desperately wanted to be loved, but he was terrified. He'd been shuttled around for so long. So many fears, so many conflicting loyalties. He loved his birth mother; he was terrified to hear her name. He wanted to love his foster-to-adopt family; but what if they left him, too? I worked for Child Protective Services for three years, and I still can't express the depth of the emotional turmoil that for so many orphans is their "normal".

Fast-forward four years. Eleven years old; his adoption has been final for two years. By every standard - emotional, social, academic, physical, spiritual - he is thriving. He wanted me to know that "school is easy, now!" and his family was a 9 99/100 (because no one is perfect!) on a scale of ten. He wrote because he'd heard we are adopting and he wanted me to share his "Words of Advice" with our son. Printed in part below (emphasis mine):

"I am also adopted and when you stay with your new family more you'll be happier than you will be at first. Find out what you like best about your new family. Mrs. Thompson is really nice. (Smile). It always feels good to know your family loves you and will take care of you and will always keep you safe. Whatever they are doing is to help you get more used to their family, and try to get more close to them... Don't be afraid of them, don't be afraid to hug them because it's not as bad as you think it is and always know that they will love you for the rest of your life. If you go to therapy don't fight to try not to go because you need it and it helps very much. It always makes me feel better and happier after I go to therapy."

I grabbed on to these words like a lifeline. Adoption, for all its wonders, involves an element of tragedy. Any story that reads, "And then the judge said you could live with us," points to a deep, dark sadness somewhere in the plot. The child is an unwitting hero on a perilous journey. Right now, somewhere in an orphanage in Lesotho, P. is on that dangerous journey. And right now the only help I can send is my prayers.

But these "Words of Advice" from an eleven-year-old helped me remember the joy and the hope that also weaves through the stories of adoption. Because someday, P. will ...always know they will love you for the rest of your life."

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who are called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28).

Survivor Challenge

If you've ever watched the Survivor Reality/Game show (a favorite at our house, I'll admit), you may be familiar with the blindfolded maze challenge. If not, I'll explain: several members of the team are blindfolded in a maze filled with obstacles and also with bags of puzzle pieces, which they must collect. One member of the team is not blindfolded but stands outside the maze, shouting directions to those inside. There are often two, sometimes three teams, thus lots of people groping blindly and lots of shouting and inherent confusion.

Our adoption journey feels like that Survivor blindfolded obstacle course. We're racing through the maze, bashing into obstacles, while occasionally someone yells, "Sign this form!" or "Wait! Wait! Government delay!" But every now and then we collect one of the puzzle pieces - a name, a birth certificate, a photograph.

Make no mistake - this is an immunity challenge. UNICEF estimates there are 143 million orphans worldwide (for comparison, the entire population of the ninth largest country in the world, Russia, is 142 million). Left on their own, orphans are prey to malnutrition, disease, wild animal attacks, sexual trafficking, child labor, slavery. Institutionalized orphans who "age out" of care face high percentages of suicide (10 to 15%), prostitution and sexual slavery (60%), criminal behavior (70%) and drug abuse (70%).

It's difficult to imagine 143 million orphans. But each one has a name and a story, hopes and dreams. Only a few of these orphans will have the opportunity to be adopted into families, but they all deserve the love and care of God's family.

Jump into the battle to outwit, outlast, outplay the evils of the world. Consider adoption. Explore child sponsorship. Opportunities abound to sponsor orphans in countries where adoption is not an option (http://www.makewaypartners.org/; http://www.childfund.org/) or to sponsor children in ways that work to strengthen the family and the community (http://www.worldvision.org/; http://www.compassion.com;  http://www.fh.org/). At times you may feel you are groping blindly, but the victory is oh, so sweet. It really is a survivor challenge!

The Doctor is Out

We are still waiting on P's medical report. It is my understanding that once the medical documentation is complete, it will go to the Lesotho welfare department, then to the lawyer, then to our agency, then to us - which is when we can officially accept the referral (I think). THEN we'll start the next round of paperwork for the adoption! The wait seems interminable.

All this waiting has me thinking - dangerous at the best of times - about the differences in the wait for medical care around the world. The United States does have its issues with health care, but I will never take our access to medical care for granted.

When Sam needs to go to the doctor, I can usually get an appointment within two hours for an illness, often within a couple of days for a routine physical. In the United States, there is one doctor for every 390 people. In Lesotho, there is one doctor for every 20,000 people. How long must P wait to see a doctor?

Foolish Love

I have fallen in love with a name on a document. A scanned, emailed document. A name I'm not entirely sure how to pronounce. This is foolish. I KNOW this is foolish. There are countless obstacles before this name is added to the Thompson name on official adoption papers. Yet I am smitten.

During my days of working for child protection I counseled foster-to-adopt parents to pray for the children in their care, to trust in God's plan for that child, and to love that child. Yet I empathized with their fear that if they loved these children too deeply, their hearts might be broken. Sometimes their hearts were broken, sometimes in ways that didn't make sense. Was God listening? Did He know what He was doing?

I fear for my heart. I desperately want to abandon my fears and trust, wholeheartedly, in God's plan...to know without a doubt that God will do what is best for this child and for our family, whatever that may be. I KNOW that God answers prayers in amazing and miraculous ways. I have seen this firsthand (just four days ago, in fact!) So what's stopping me? I want to love foolishly ... but foolish love is scary! "I do believe, help me overcome my unbelief!" Mark 9:24.

"What if your blessings come through raindrops... What if the trials in this life are your mercies in disguise?" Laura Story - "Blessings"

So Far!

9:00 am - I'm looking at facebook pictures of my brother and sister-in-law, who are in Russia meeting their little girls. I'm so excited for them, but admittedly a little jealous. I realize I haven't posted on my blog in awhile. So even though I have NO NEWS, I post anyway (see below).

9:20 am. Bible study time. It's Beth Moore, exhorting me to pray for a wonder-driven work in my family that is "so far!" out there that God gets profuse credit. I admit that I'm not often a "so far!" kind of pray-er. I tend to pray more along the lines of "Your will be done..." But today I really wrestled with Psalm 18:16 - 19, and I kept tracking to P. "Grab hold of P, Lord. Pull him out of the deep waters of grief and despair, rescue him from his enemies who confronted him on the day of his disaster. Bring him to a spacious place, Lord. Bring him to our home, where he will be showered with love, where he will know your delight."

I prayed that God would bring us a word about P. I wanted confirmation that this was the child with whom we'd been matched. I wanted to know his age, his story. I went so far (!) as to say today. I quickly backtracked - "or this week or whenever...Your will be done." But that felt seriously wimpy (did God actually call me a wimp? I don't know, but it sure felt like it!), so I prayed "today. Bring us a word TODAY." I worried I was setting myself up for disappointment.

9:50 am. I really must do some work. I log back onto my computer and pull up manuscripts I need to edit. But ADD distraction...my email bings! Better check email, first.

It's AFAA! Our adoption agency! Emailing P's birth certificate (he's 5 1/2!) and orphanage report. Oh! My God! Wow! Today! Not days after my prayer, not hours, literally SECONDS after I prayed for P I got a word! I'm gonna keep praying!

Psalm 18:19 - He brought me into a spacious place. He rescued me because he delighted in me.

Enlarge our Territory

Still no word on our little guy. We're pretty sure there was a match meeting on May 19th, and that we were matched with a child (P?), but beyond that all is quiet on the adoption front. It is winter in Lesotho. Perhaps too cold for the lawyers to sign whatever must be signed?

Samantha and I painted her brother's room, moved in bunk beds and stuffed animals and books and balls. It is no longer a guest room (sorry, Grandma!), but very much ready for an active little boy.

While we wait for word from Africa, my brother and his wife traveled to Russia. Yesterday they met their girls, my nieces, for the first time!

My prayer is that by Christmas we will all be together, uniting children from Indiana, Kentucky, Lesotho and Russia into one beloved family.

"Oh, that you would be with me and enlarge my territory..." 1 Chronicles 4:10

One Foot in Front of the Other

(DISCLAIMER: I did not run the Louisville mini-marathon this year. I thought about it, even trained a bit for it, but fortunately...I mean, UNfortunately... had another commitment that morning. Maybe, er, a mini in November?)

Aside from the intense physical pain, running is all mental. One of the toughest things for me (after getting my butt off the couch and out the door!) is running a training route with which I'm unfamiliar. If I don't know the route, somehow it seems twice as long, neverending. Doubts begin to plague my mind. "Am I lost?" "Did I miss the turn?" "Will this ever end?"

The adoption journey feels a bit like that unfamiliar training route. I have a general idea of the direction we're going, but no clue how long it will take. The finish line is out of sight, hidden behind the hills and valleys of international bureaucracy. Few cheering crowds on this race - long stretches of silence accompany the pounding of my heart. "Am I lost?" "Did I miss the turn?" "Will this ever end?"

Fortunately, as with the mini-marathon training, I have an encouragement group to speak into the silence with a pat on the back, a word of support, a prayer. And I'm reminded that adoption, and parenting for that matter, is a marathon, not a sprint. One foot in front of the other, step by step, fixing my eyes on Jesus.

We finished!
Kim and I after the 2010 Indianapolis Mini-Marathon.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us (Hebrews 12:1).

When Wisdom Ends...

The Bible has a lot to say about wisdom. A keyword search for "wisdom" on biblegateway.net listed 219 results. I'm a planner, and also a bit of a perfectionist, so the admonition in Luke 14:28 - 30 about estimating the cost BEFORE building has always struck a warning chord in me.

But as Trent and I delve deeper into this adoption journey, I'm also confronted with the question: Where does wisdom end and faith versus fear begin? Because from a pragmatic viewpoint, international adoption doesn't seem especially wise. Sam is 13, a great kid, and, to be honest, parenting an only child has a lot of perks. Adding another child through international adoption will create some stress: 1) financially (adoption fees plus the cost of raising and schooling another child); 2) emotionally (attachment issues and parenting in general can wreak havok in families); and, 3) physically (twenty plus hours of travel time just to GET to Lesotho, plus the threat of illness and injury along the way). It's no wonder well-meaning friends have asked, "Um, are you sure?"

So where's the line between wisdom and faith versus fear? We confront this same question about our mission trip to Tijuana. This year we promoted the mission trip to the Christian school where I work. Not a lot of takers, to be honest. What I got instead where a lot of rebukes. "Haven't you heard that Mexico is NOT SAFE?" "It is irresponsible of you to promote a service trip to MEXICO! Are you foolish?" No matter that we've been to Tijuana five years running, are in regular contact with those who live every day in Tijuana, and our critics' only knowledge of Mexico is what they've heard on the news (for those of you not familiar with Mexico and who also watch the news, Tijuana (Baja county) and Chihuahua county (where the news reports are centered) are in different parts of the country).

Sometimes we must step forward with action that seems to defy wisdom. Adoption. Mission trips. Service. Charitable giving. Heck, even venturing out in a thunderstorm to go to church. When wisdom ends, our only decision is whether we will venture forth in faith...or stay home in fear.

For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength. 1 Cor. 1:25.

There's a Click!

So I decided I wanted to learn the Sotho language. I'm not sure why I thought this would be successful considering I still struggle to carry on an intelligible conversation in Spanish, but nevertheless I bought the (only) Sotho language CD. Thus far I've learned biri (beer), kofi (coffee) and leqele (left). The ease in memorizing the first two is self-explanatory. The last word is implanted in my brain not because I'm directionally challenged (I am), but because in Sotho, Q is a CLICK!

This is so cool. Left is pronounced le-click-ele. How fun is that! My ADD took over and I googled languages with clicks. (Quite a few, especially in southern Africa.) Apparently I'm not the only one who finds clicks fascinating. Russell Peters has a YouTube video about it...

The LORD said, “If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them.  Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other.” Genesis 11:6-7

Rumors and Rumors of Rumors on Easter

Adoptive parents are a nervous bunch (and here I'm speaking for myself). A to-be parent plus complex and seemingly irrational international bureaucracies plus long stretches of silence plus media reports of everything-that-can-go-wrong plus the internet equals a rumor mill potent enough to keep any birther conspiracist busy.

The internet has been a wonderful tool on this adoption journey, allowing us to research and to connect with others, but it also has its dangers. Just this Thursday (Gethsemane Thursday) a passing comment on a blog in combination with an email sent my heart racing about the status of adoption in Lesotho.

My inherent cynicism plus my brief stint in journalism school served me well (back in the day journalists were taught they must have two credible and verifiable sources before reporting a story). A quick response from Cheryl (recently returned from Lesotho) and an email from a missionary in an orphanage in Lesotho proved the rumor to be nothing more than a rumor and gave my husband yet another opportunity to tell me to chill out.

I admit I admire Thomas, the doubting disciple. When everyone was rushing in with their rumors of empty tombs and chance meetings on the road, Thomas wanted the verifiable source - "First I gotta see the nail marks." He didn't get worked up or freaked out about the rumors, but when presented with the facts he believed.

The Easter story demands faith, but, as shown by writers such as McDowell (More Than a Carpenter) and Strobel (The Case for Christ) it also stands up under credible and verifiable research. Rumors may fly, but Truth is Risen!

Then Jesus told him, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” John 20:29

No Guarantees

Americans like guarantees. I like guarantees. If Trent fails to respond quickly and correctly to the question, "Does this new dress make my butt look fat?" I like knowing I can take said dress back to the store for a full refund.

With international adoption, there are no guarantees. I've known this, on a vague theoretical level, all along, but it really hit home when I wrote our first $6,000 non-refundable check to the adoption agency. Six thousand dollars. Non-refundable. No guarantees.

Two incongruent beliefs have taken up residency in my head: 1) My son is in Africa and I must do everything I can to bring him home; 2) My son is not my son and I have no legal or emotional right to him until after the adoption is finalized...irrespective of how many checks we write. In psychological circles harboring incongruent beliefs is called cognitive dissonance and creates emotional tension. Welcome to my world.

Our church preached on ownership several months back with the premise that everything belongs to God and we are merely caretakers. So in reality it's God's six thousand dollars. Trent and I just have to figure out how to invest it. Stock market? Adopt an orphan? Bathroom renovation? I think I know the answer. Caveat emptor.

"I will not leave you as orphans, I will come to you." John 14:18.

Children of God by Third Day

Spam I Am

It's tough to find spiritual significance in spam. (Not the canned meat product popular in Hawaii - I've never considered the spirituality of that particular food substance - but rather the junk email variety.)

I should back up. On March 4th I emailed our homestudy draft to AFAA, our agency, after calling and learning that Cheryl was in Africa. Cheryl must check and approve the homestudy for wording issues relevant to African adoptions before the homestudy can be finalized. Our homestudy agency also emailed her a copy so she could approve it while overseas.

Days passed. Weeks. I emailed again. Still nothing. Now I'm starting to imagine all sorts of terrible things (a quick google search of international adoption elucidates some of what flashed through my mind). Trent, ever mellow, encouraged calm and patience, "Just wait until Cheryl gets back in the states."

She returned, I called, and after some back-and-forth and checking of email files, I learned...I was spam. Spam I am. My two emails and the email from the homestudy agency had gone directly to AFAA's spam. Long story long, the homestudy was retrieved, checked, approved and finalized - bing, bang, boom.

Any spiritual significance to the month-long delay caused by an overefficient spam filter? I have no idea. Maybe someday there will be a cool story about how this odd delay allowed us to connect with a specific child at a specific time. Chances are I will never know. But I do know that I have been a bit more diligent about checking my own spam files...who knows what might be missed?

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28).

If you Meet my Heart in Africa

Our adoption agency - Americans for African Adoptions - is currently in Africa. I can only imagine what Cheryl is doing, who she is meeting as she continues her work to care for orphans in Liberia, Uganda and Lesotho and to match them with families eager to adopt. Will she meet our son while she is there? I don't know. I can only pray that God uses her visit to prepare the groundwork for our son to come home soon.

Who is our son? Some days I can almost imagine his laughter at the dinner table, can almost visualize him playing ball outside with his dad and Sam (but playing with a soccer ball or a baseball?). Other days I feel so dissociated from even the adoption process, the dearth of progress causing me to wonder if we really are adopting, or if this is just something I read about someone else doing.

The news from Africa is troubling, even more as we consider that Ethiopia is reducing adoptions by 95%. War and drought and illness continue to plague the continent. The UN estimates 18 million African children have lost one or more parents to AIDS. The orphans' extended family support is stretched or nonexistent. My heart aches for the children. What will happen to them? One of those children is my son - the child of my heart.

Cheryl if you do meet our son in Africa, will you tell him we love him? I stand on the faith that God has met him. God knows him and God has a plan and a purpose for him. Pray that God's plans will quickly be fulfilled.

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.^{[b] 30} And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. ³¹ So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. Matt. 10:28-31

Eric Ludy - Depraved Indifference

Paperwork Purgatory

I refreshed my email at least five dozen times between 5 pm and 10 pm last night. Our home study social worker said she'd email the first draft of our homestudy this week. I'm trying not to be impatient, but this home study has been two months in the making (from gathering paperwork through interviews and now waiting for the write up), and until we receive the final copy, we're stuck in limbo.

I knew the waiting would prove a difficult part of the adoption journey, but I didn't realize until yesterday just how little control I have over the waiting process. At least when we were gathering documents for the home study and the dossier I felt like I was doing something - I had a plan and a purpose and a checklist. Now the plan is to wait - wait for the homestudy, wait for USCIS, wait for the agency to submit our dossier, wait for the Lesotho government, wait for our son.

It is a moment-by-moment prayer to give all timing and control to God. We commited our adoption journey to him before we even began our initial application - this little boy was His son before he will be ours, and God's plans are perfect. So we wait. And  I refresh the email on more time...

Colossians 1:12 - So that you may have great endurance and patience and joyfully giving thanks to the Father who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints.

Stepping off a cliff

Last night Trent and I completed our initial application to Americans for African Adoptions with the prayer of adopting a preschool-aged boy from Lesotho, Africa. Last week I only vaguely knew where to find Lesotho on a map, and today my heart is heavy for the Basotho people and the challenges they face. Last week Trent was uncertain and reluctant about adoption, and this week he's leading the plunge to bring home our son.

Our prayers:
1) That God will protect and care for our son. It's kind of freaking me out that I have a child so far away in Africa - without me!
2) That our son will have a heart that is eager to give and receive love.
3) That God will help us care for him once he's adopted and will help us heal physical, mental and emotional wounds.
4) That God's hand will direct the timing and all the paperwork.

If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
   if I settle on the far side of the sea,
¹⁰ even there your hand will guide me,
   your right hand will hold me fast. Psalm 139:9-10