praying him home

Adulthood - how did this happen?

2012-03-05T16:00:00.001-05:00

I don't have ~~much~~ anything to report on the adoption front. Still waiting on a signature. No, our file has not been lost (I asked). DSW just hasn't done anything with it. In light of not saying anything unkind about DSW and their ~~ineptitude~~ method of operation, I'll elect not to say anything and just ask ya'll to keep praying.

There. Wasn't that an adult response? I'm not sure why or how this adult thing happened. It's weird, really. Just yesterday I was doing the please-please-can-we-have-a-snow-day dance with my daughter (didn't work) and this morning I was scheduling an appointment with a lawyer to update our will. Yes, a real lawyer. For a real will. Apparently the $39.99 special with Legal Zoom is not acceptably adult. Who knew.

That got me thinking about all the other areas of my life in which I am expected to be an adult, but in which I fall short. Sigh. But then Jen Hatmaker blogged about her difficulties with certain "maturity required" issues. And I felt better about myself. See, all my small group friends especially Michael W., I am not the only one who doesn't answer the phone. And because Jen Hatmaker is a Christian writer and speaker and is all spiritual and stuff, I am claiming phone ineptitude as a mark of spiritual maturity.

So, in the ~~hope~~ event that someone else in cyber-land needs a boost of self-esteem, I, too, will share some ways in which I fall woefully short of the adult-behavior-required mark.

That not answering the phone thing? Full disclosure - I often don't answer the phone because I can't FIND my phone. It's somewhere. I know it's somewhere because I used it just a minute ago to play family feud. (So fun!) But then I put it down because I didn't want to miss the South Beach Towing rerun when the overweight guy tries to climb in the passenger window and loses his pants. Hahahahaha!

This makes it very difficult on my child(ren) because while most children can rely on their mother to help them find (socks, shoes, homework, backpacks, softball gear, uniforms, purses, tickets, etc.) this just isn't an option in my house. I don't know where it is either. It's probably with my phone, playing family feud. "Experts" encourage parents to allow their children to gradually take more and more responsibility for their "stuff" as they grow older and more mature. I handed that responsibility over to Sam at around 18 months of age. Good luck, girlfriend!

I also can't seem to manage the very grown-up and parental task of creating a weekly dinner menu for my family. I know they must be fed. For the past 14 years Sam has required feeding three to six times a day, so it's not like this fact of life snuck up on me. I have the very best of intentions, I do. I want my family to eat delicious and wholesome made-from-scratch meals. I have read COUNTLESS books about the importance of delicious and wholesome made-from-scratch meals. But I dither and dither and suddenly it's six o'clock and everyone is starving and I forgot to go to the farm store plus I have NO IDEA what to cook and the only choices are scrambled eggs or Qdoba. Sorry Michael Pollan.

Which is weird because I really, really like to plan ahead. Except when I don't like to plan ahead. Like with dinner. (I think it's actually I-forgot-to-fix-dinner-so-let's-go-to-Qdoba intermittent reinforcement.) To avoid this last minute drama, I recently decided I was going to give every day a dinner theme. I read this somewhere. (Maybe on family feud.) This would help me. So, let's start with Sundays. Sundays are pizza night. Surely I can remember to make pizza every Sunday. It's not that hard. I am, remember, an adult.

BUT THEN my parents went on a raw food vegan diet, which has done amazing and almost miraculous things for their health. This got me thinking about how we should incorporate more raw and or/vegan food into our diet. So I spent the bulk of Sunday afternoon googling raw and/or vegan pizza to serve for Sunday pizza night. There are a surprising number of websites devoted to this very thing. One in particular grabbed my attention. I should have known I was in trouble when the first paragraph of the directions read: "The key to creating a successful vegan pizza is in the planning ahead" but I forged on. The recipe included a long list of ingredients, of which I had exactly one (tomatoes - but canned, not fresh).

By now it was six o'clock. And I had a vast knowledge of the benefits of vegan pizza and an understanding of how to construct a vegan pizza. But I still had only one ingredient. My family was not thrilled about eating canned tomatoes, and were not convinced that this plate of canned tomatoes was actually pizza. So I did what any self-respecting ~~college student~~ adult would do: call Pizza Hut. They had it ready in fifteen minutes.

But I also offered fruit snacks. And every ~~pre-schooler~~ adult knows that fruit snacks = one serving of fruit. So that should count for something. Right?

Letter to My Eighth Grade Daughter

2012-02-15T17:06:00.000-05:00

Much of the last year has been focused on our adoption - from the months of paperwork to the joy of our match to the agony of waiting. Our prayers every morning and our dinner conversations every evening center on Pacman. Sam already loves her little brother so, so much, and is happy to invest as much time as she can into praying him home.

Exactly one week after receiving news that we had been matched Sam began painting and organizing Pacman's room. And clearing a shelf for him in their shared bathroom. The room is still ready. The shelf, however, has been conscripted back into service.

But this weekend - President's Day weekend - is Sam's birthday. And we are celebrating her. In a big, big way. (Organized and arranged by the man who once asked me if he could go on a weekend buddies golf trip to North Carolina and then somehow morphed my agreement into a 10-day golf tour of Scotland. So, yes, we're gonna live it up.)

My baby is turning 14. Finishing her 8th grade year and looking forward to high school. Which makes me remember my own high school years. Ugh. I was a hot mess in high school (and, um, in college, also). A quivering disarray of anxiety and insecurity and selfishness. Thankfully I had a tremendous family and incredibly tolerant friends who loved me in spite of myself. Sam is already more mature at 13 than I was at 23, but, before she braves the waters of high school, I want to pass on a few words.

1. Practice Positivity. In a world that is often filled with hardship, it can be easy to fall into cynicism, but remember that there is always hope. Suffering produces perseverence, perseverence character, and character hope. Hang on to hope. Look for the good - in others, in yourself. We often find what we seek. At the same time, don't let others' negativity bring you down. Seriously, are they being mean ON PURPOSE? (Or do they just need to work on their people skills?) Give thanks - it's all too easy to focus on what you don't have; but a slight shift to gratitude for what you DO have brings contentment. Laugh often - at yourself, with others. Life is too serious to take seriously. Be confident! See yourself the way God sees you - amazing, forgiven, loved, inconquerable! You are a child of the KING!

When in doubt, don a monkey mask.

2. Travel. See as much of the world as you can. Enjoy luxury hotels if you have the chance, every once in awhile, but, even better, stay in homes and hostels - get to know the incredible people who share this life with you. Experience new cultures, new foods (try at least one bite! Remember those homemade meals in Mexico?), new landscapes, races and religions. But know that no matter how far you roam, you can always, always come home.

Frijoles y mole y tortillas y tamales! Que bueno!

3. Think critically. Don't believe something is true just because somebody else says it is. Challenge conventional wisdom. Challenge authority. Think for yourself. Smart is the new cool. Never apologize for your intelligence, and don't pretend to be dumb just to get some boy to like you. If he needs a dumb girl to feel good about himself, he's not good enough for you. Read. Read something every day. Read for fun, read to explore your imagination, read for knowledge. Consider the other point of view. Even if you disagree, especially if you disagree, examine the other person's viewpoint. Remember Wicked - there's always another side to the story. Learn to communicate your ideas effectively. Like, OMG, don't use txt or, like, slang 2tlk2 teachers, employers, professional colleagues, 4COL.

I'm through accepting limits
"Cause someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change
But till I try I'll never know.
"Defy Gravity"

4. Celebrate the Uniqueness of You. Don't let pop culture define you. There's a reason trends are trends - mass-market fads never last. You, on the other hand, are one of a kind, and you should never have to force who you are into a mold of someone else's making. Those molds are all airbrushed, anyway. See yourself - and others - through "Shallow Hal" eyes. True beauty is on the inside. Love the body you have and take care of it. Make health a priority. Exercise. Eat more of the foods that God created, and less of the foods ConAgra processed. Take time to relax. Practice flexibility - in your body and your mind. Cherish your strengths - enjoy the many, many talents that God has given you and use those talents as a blessing to the world.

Catching rainbows.

5. Love - love yourself, love your friends, love the unlovable. Value your friendships. Diamonds are NOT a girl's best friend. Friends are much more precious. True friends will love you through the ups and downs and will encourage you to become a better person. Do the same for them. Reach out to those who society overlooks. Demonstrate kindness in a world that is often unkind. Who knows, you may find yourself entertaining angels. Find your first true love in God. Don't wait for a boy to complete you. Complete yourself, first. Never date a jerk, no matter how cute he may be on the outside. Remember, always, that you are worthy of respect. Marry a man like your father.

Daddy-Daughter Dance - Trent knows how to set the bar really, really high.

Finally, always know that YOU ARE LOVED.

Questions That Are Hard to Answer

2012-02-07T16:28:00.000-05:00

So, I obviously love to talk, and write, about our adoption journey. And I will happily try to answer any question anyone has about adopting. But some questions are more difficult for me to articulate than others. So, since I think best through my fingers, I will try to answer them in print.

1. When will you get him? Or, more preferable, when do you travel? When will he come home?

These are difficult questions because we JUST DON'T KNOW. Adoption is uncertain at best. International adoption, necessitating several dozen bureaucrats from two governments to complete paperwork and procedures, is filled with shifting time frames and policies and attitudes. The country from which we're adopting has a very small and very new adoption program. So, unfortunately, there is no clear cut time frame from application to match to approval to court to travel. The process can be stalled at any point along the route for various reasons or for no reason whatsoever. Because of the many, many uncertainties, including the possibility of an abrupt cessation of an adoption program altogether, the related questions - "What's taking so long?" or "Why don't you have approval yet?" fill me with absolute dread. I can't even go there. Yes, we know God's timing is perfect. But government officials are not.

My husband decided to take this uncertainty and dread in hand. So now, when Trent's asked, "When do you travel?" he answers, "Three months." So, people, that's the deal. We travel in three months.

2. What happened to him? Why's he in an orphanage?

I realize that people ask this out of sincere interest and concern for Pacman. Much of his history we do not know. But even what we do know is not our story to tell, it is his story to tell, when he's ready and with whom he wants to share. It is not an easy thing for a young child to reconstruct a painful past. It will take guidance and practice and maturity for him to craft his testimony. So, please, just love him as he is. The story will keep.

3. Why are you adopting from Lesotho? Or, sometimes, why international adoption? Don't you know there are kids here who need families?

Yes, we do know. There are wonderful, beautiful children here who need forever families, too. My parents fostered children. I worked in connection with Child Protective Services for three years. It may be that the issues surrounding foster-to-adopt are still too raw for me, personally. Adoption isn't one size fits all. We each have different gifts, different backgrounds, different callings. The long answer as to why Lesotho - my husband and I researched every single adoption program. We discussed the pros and the cons of each as it related to our particular family situation. We prayed about it. We fasted. The small size of the Lesotho program, the needs of the children, and, at the time, the efficiency of the Lesotho program appealed to us. We have connections with Johannesburg through Amor Ministries, with whom we serve in Mexico. We sponsor two children in Lesotho through World Vision. (And yes, we are going to visit them when we're in country! In three months!) The short answer, however, the answer that's so hard to articulate - we felt pulled to Lesotho because that's where our son is.

4. Isn't he going to feel so lucky?

Um, well, he will feel about as lucky as a child can feel who lost his parents at a very young age, spent several years in an impoverished and overcrowded orphanage, was then given to strangers - a quirky family who moved him from his country and culture to a place where he doesn't even speak the language. Adoption has its roots in trauma. Trauma is not lucky. It is messy and painful and raw. But we serve a God who redeems, a God who works for the good of those who love Him. We get to be a part of Pacman's healing, a part of his redemption story. And in that, it is Trent and Sam and I who are the ones who are lucky.

Along those lines, yes, we have heard the stories of (insert lurid story of a family who went through attachment distress). I have worked with several of those families, in fact. We are not entering into this lightly. We have done our homework and are preparing ourselves as best we can. We know it won't be easy. We know our lives will be turned upside down. We know there are no certainties. We appreciate your prayers. And your support. And we won't complain if you bring us dinner (once we're home. In three months). And a nice bottle of Shiraz.

5. Aren't you happy with the family you already have? Or, sometimes, Oh! You're adopting? You know, now you'll probably get pregant.

I am thrilled with the family I have. Sam and Trent and I have a blast together. And we know it would be super easy to circle up our cozy threesome, put Sam through college, and then spend our free time golfing and writing on the beach somewhere. We know that adding a forth will disrupt our family mobile (see above re: trauma). But Pacman needs a family. And we need a Pacman. We have a son in Africa. And until he's with us, we have an ache, a longing, an incompleteness.

And it's just weird to discuss my reproduction with anyone, except maybe my husband. I don't need to get pregnant to be a mom again. I'll go so far as to say I don't want to get pregnant. Adoption counts as real parenting. And I want to parent Pacman. Enough said.

6. Wouldn't he be better off in his own country?

The questioner is usually heading in one of two directions with this question. One, they are opposed to all things international adoption. UNICEF believes international adoption should be a last resort, believes that children should grow up in their own country and culture, and has instituted pressure on many foreign governments to restrict international adoption. While it is true that children should be cared for by their own family, first, if at all possible, the fact remains that there are many children worldwide without a family, who are growing up in institutional care, without love, without belonging, without culture. Children need the culture of family, first.

The second direction with this question is often the realization that Pacman is, in fact, black, and we are, in fact, white. They may be trotting out their own bigotry, in which case I don't have much truck in trying to educate their poor souls. Or they may be genuinely concerned about our ability to teach Pacman how to be a black man in America. We care about this, too, and are taking it seriously. God knew what he was doing in making the church a global church. We are surrounded by other believers, many of them black, several of them African. And we will lean on our brothers and sisters to help us raise him well. It does take a village.

7. How much does he cost?

He is a child, and he doesn't cost anything. But there are fees with adoption - agency staff and lawyers must be paid for their time and their work, documents must be copied and mailed, records must be - I don't know - whatever is done with all those records. There are humanitarian donations. There are fees for travel - airplane tickets and taxis and lodging and food. There were also fees for Sam's birth - doctor visits and delivery room staff and the hospital room and that delicious hospital food all cost a bundle. I'm happy to discuss the various costs of processing an international adoption. But Pacman - he is priceless.

Living Life On Hold

2012-02-02T10:26:00.000-05:00

Editor's note: As of today, it has been 37 weeks since we were matched with a gorgeous, then-five-year old-now-six-year-old boy (whose name isn't really Pacman). So we're heavy into these last stages of waiting to meet him, and ready for "labor" at any time (as if all this waiting isn't labor).

I hate calling corporations. Financial and insurance companies are the worst, I think. First there are the maze of automatic options to wade through and buttons to push - "Press 6 for the automated voice explaining your four options if you can't decide between options 1 through 5." Then, to finally speak to a real-live person, you must first be put on hold. So I'm trying to tend to family and fix dinner and shoo the dogs off the couch with a phone firmly affixed to my ear, a phone that is playing the same recorded message over and over again. Aaargh!

We're on hold with the adoption, waiting for the FINAL SIGNATURE that will approve our adoption order so we can move forward with yet more - but the final bits - of paperwork. We will most likely travel six weeks (or so) after approval. I've been glued to my iphone, eager to hear the ding-a-ding that lets me know I have a new email/voicemail/text. But regardless of how often I check, I keep getting the same message over and over - "We will let you know when we have any new information."Aaargh!

Because we may travel *soon*, we have been planning our lives no more than six weeks out. Speak at a conference mid-March? Won't know if I'm available until Febuary 7th. We may travel *soon*. Go to Chicago with the orchestra the end of March? Will get back to you Feb. 16. We may travel *soon*. Chaperone the 8th grade Washington, DC trip the end of April? Hmm...can't let you know until March 10th. We may travel *soon*. We can't use vacation days or sick days for ANYTHING, because we may need them for travel. *Soon*.

Unfortunately, conference planners and trip organizers and tour companies, while empathetic, require more than six weeks lead time. Deposits for Chicago and Washington DC were due last fall. And they are NON-REFUNDABLE. Final payments come due well before my six week window. Again, non-refundable. I can't express the angst of handing over a $400 check in January for the Washington trip while at the same time hoping that we will be in Africa during said trip. We might need that $400. Why? Because we might travel *soon*.

I am a planner. I like to plan for various contingencies well beyond six weeks out. I want to know my daughter's summer softball schedule in January because I want to plan softball around writing around weekends at the lake. I want to know the details of the back-to-school schedule so I can arrange my work and child-care schedule. Truth be told, I wouldn't mind next year's winter basketball schedule NOW. That'd be helpful, thanks.

But God has us on hold, which, I'm trying to learn, isn't all bad. I'm learning to trust Him in the day-by-day, knowing we can't worry about the future (because today has enough worries of its own). Our life may look radically different come April. Then again, it may not. Summer softball and lake trips may have to take a backseat to the needs of bonding with a scared and traumatized little boy. Then again, it may not. What comes will come. We are preparing for the myriad of options, but we are also learning to trust God in the moment. Today, right now, what would You have me do?

So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own (Matt. 6:34, KJB).

God Said Wait

2012-01-27T18:58:00.001-05:00

This past week I have prayed and prayed and PRAYED about something very particular. This is the same something I had prayed very particularly about before, so this was a second chance to pray this particular prayer. It had ~~something~~ everything to do with getting our Ministry approval and paperwork in time to send with a family who is traveling to Lesotho next Tuesday.

God said no wait.

I am heartbroken. Maybe some of you are able to handle God's no wait with maturity and grace, but I am the wailing toddler who saw the cookies only to be told she may not have one until after dinner. I am hungry NOW and it's not FAIR and why don't you LOVE ME?

It's not enough that I am immature. Oh, no. I also turn my disappointment with God's no wait into a judgment of my works. Maybe my prayers weren't good enough. Maybe it's because I screwed up the whole fasting thing. Maybe it's because I got behind on my daily Bible reading.

And then come the deeper, darker fears. Maybe God has another plan for Pacman's life. We don't know his history; perhaps he has family...somewhere...and waiting for that family is God's plan for him. As painful as that is to consider, I can turn that over to God with a different kind of urgency. I want him to be loved, to belong. It's the next fear around which Satan wraps icy tentacles of doubt. Maybe ... maybe God doesn't want us to adopt. Maybe ... maybe God doesn't think I'm ready to be a mom to this little boy. Maybe ... maybe He doesn't think I'm good enough.

Deep breath in, hold it, let it out.

Why is it so easy to lose perspective, to jump from disappointment to doubt to despair in half a nanosecond? Gah! Sometimes I just want to smack myself!

I have a "magic" trick at school in which a "negative" emoticon (sad, mad, scared, worried, or, personally speaking, neurotic and immature) changes, via prayer or Scripture or other healthy coping skill, into a happy emoticon. The kids love it. I love it. It changes perspective. It shows us that we aren't subject to our negativity - we can take those thoughts captive. It reminds me that I don't have to hang on to my disappointment and doubt and despair. I can, through prayer and Scripture and wise counsel, trust that when God says no wait, He has a plan. He can take my disappointment and love me through it. He will turn my mourning into dancing. He never said it would be easy; He said he would be with us.

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope. Psalm 130:5

Advice to My Future Self from the Other Side of the Play-Therapy Table

2012-01-23T16:17:00.000-05:00

I realized today that I've been a counselor on the fringes of the adoption world since 1995 - 17 years. I've worked alongside author and adoption speaker Sherrie Eldridge; foster and adoptive mom and director of Family Solutions, Nancy Hughes; and with countless birthparents and adopted children and adoptive parents.

God must've thought I needed a LOT of preparation before we adopted our son. Seventeen years of on-the-job training with these wise and experienced adoption professionals have given me a foundational knowledge of adoption issues. But knowing what to do - as a counselor - and doing it - as a parent - sometimes feels worlds apart. (Which is why I once led a parent-your-preschooler workshop at the church on Saturday, and then on Sunday found myself chasing my own tantrum-throwing preschooler down the halls of that same church.)

So, while I am still waiting on our adoption paperwork and sitting on the counselor's side of the play therapy table, I am going to give my future self - the wild-eyed self sitting on the stressed out parent's side of the play therapy table - some advice.

* It's okay, nay, it is important, to seek support. Which is why, before we travel, I am making a family appointment with an adoption counselor in my city. She has about a three month waiting list, so I figure that'll put us around two months home. And even if I don't think I need help because, after all, I've memorized The Connected Child and Parenting the Hurt Child, it is DIFFERENT when you're the parent. And I'm gonna need someone to remind me of that. And to put our very changed world into perspective.

* Take a break. I'm not always very good at this. When I get fixated on something, I'm all in, every minute. So while Pacman may need much of my attention and time, he will not need all of my attention and time. Trent and I will go on a date. Sam and I will go to a show (Billy Elliott is coming in June, dear God, so it'd be amazing if we were home by then and could get tickets thanks!). I will talk my girlfriends into taking me to the Melting Pot or a least to Java (one is being built right by my house!).

* Don't overanalyze. My tendency is going to be, I know, to assess everything - his development, his attachment, his trauma, our stress level, his stress level, our coping skills, his coping skills. And while a tiny bit of this may be helpful, mostly I will just need to love him and meet him where he is. I need to be his mom, not his counselor.

* Laugh. Fortunately I have Trent, whose quiet wit puts everything into perspective. I'm compiling funny comics and blogs and videos to have on hand. Because parent is tough, tough work. And life is a lot less stressful when you can laugh - at yourself, with others.

* Don't try to be a perfect parent. Work to be a loving parent. Make mistakes. Apologize. Hug and kiss. Try again.

* Pray. Pacman is God's child. We rely on God to protect and heal him now, in the orphanage, and we will rely on God to protect and heal him when he's with us, in our home. Adoption is filled with trauma. It is redemption in action, and God is the great redeemer. What I'm learning about prayer now, while we wait, is but a taste of what I will learn about prayer once he's home. Sometimes the best thing to do - the only thing to do - is to pray.

Slow Sailing

2012-01-18T06:40:00.001-05:00

Still no news. NO NEWS, I tell you. I *thought* I had news. I *believed* I had news. But turns out, not so much news. So we're still stuck. With no news.

Last week I got really excited about the possibility of news. I started planning. I bought legos and matchbox cars. I prayed and fasted. (And yes, once again, I broke out in hives. Apparently there is something seriously wrong with my practice of the spiritual discipline of fasting.) I told God exactly how it could all work out. The dates lined up perfectly with others who were traveling and with family leave from work and etcetera. It was going to be awesome and wondeful and I was so excited.

Pop. That's the sound of my bubble bursting as days and then a week went by with - you guessed it - no news.

Wait - news flash - I took too long to post and, guess what! I got an email! From the agency! Stating that - oh, bummer - there is no news. Our adoption file is still somewhere in the depths of the Ministry of Social Welfare waiting on various and assorted signatures. Sigh. But now I know where we stand. At least this tiny bit of news of no news takes away the nagging fear that our file had been lost or destroyed or (insert horrific yet imaginative scenario).

Still, despite the hives and despite my heartbreaking longing to love on this little boy, I have a sense of peace. I have expended every shred of action that I can muster. I've prayed and I've sent emails to my agency and I've conscripted every person I know into praying and I've vented and I've scoured the internet for scraps of information and I've called my agency and, as noted above, I've fasted. I've done all that God has given me to do.

So now I wait. This journey is by God's design, and I'm trusting him to steer the ship. We may be on a sailboat (with no wind) rather than a speedboat, but I'm going to be OK with that. I'm going to try to enjoy the journey. I'm going to trust Him and let Him work it all out. His ways are better than my ways, and I'm anticipating something truly amazing!

But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint. Isaiah 40:31

Quirky

2011-12-16T12:58:00.001-05:00

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

2011-12-04T13:43:00.002-05:00

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...

2011-11-10T10:30:00.000-05:00

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

2011-11-03T15:51:00.001-04:00

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?

2011-10-27T07:30:00.002-04:00

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!

2011-10-18T15:55:00.004-04:00

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?

2011-09-30T16:30:00.002-04:00

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

2011-09-28T22:13:00.002-04:00

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

2011-09-12T16:44:00.002-04:00

Random Thoughts about Patience

2011-09-06T21:15:00.003-04:00

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

2011-09-01T16:26:00.002-04:00

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

2011-08-24T15:30:00.007-04:00

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

2011-08-20T18:54:00.002-04:00

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

2011-07-12T08:39:00.001-04:00

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!

2011-07-07T15:53:00.003-04:00

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

2011-07-07T09:15:00.002-04:00

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

2011-05-04T07:00:00.004-04:00

(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...

2011-04-27T06:30:00.003-04:00

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!

2011-04-25T09:33:00.002-04:00

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

2011-04-24T13:21:00.000-04:00

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

2011-04-21T07:13:00.001-04:00

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

2011-04-18T21:52:00.001-04:00

Spam I Am

2011-04-01T20:30:00.001-04:00

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

2011-03-21T08:30:00.004-04:00

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

2011-03-01T17:49:00.000-05:00

Paperwork Purgatory

2011-03-01T08:17:00.001-05:00

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

2011-01-10T07:55:00.016-05:00

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