When my husband and I decided to adopt, I knew our family tree would grow and be a bit more complicated, but for the most part, I believed the tree would continue to be rather straightforward.
Until it wasn't.
I remember this one time I was chatting with a man at the the grocery store and he asked me if I had kids. I said yes, and then he asked how many. We were in the middle of the adoption, but things were starting to go south. I wondered if the man's question was a test. (Of my faith?)
I told him I had 4 kids.
I didn't take the time to explain our situation, but I walked away feeling confused and uncertain.
And it was then I realized our family tree was getting messy.
It was around this time that we learned about an adoption ministry in our community. On all their literature they printed a verse from the Bible.
I loved that concept. I thought of my kids in Ethiopia as little seedlings that we were going to uproot and transplant with great care, being mindful that they put down roots here in our home. I prayed that they would become mighty oaks trees. That they would grow into strong and beautiful adults. That people would look at them and be amazed at what God had done.
I even took that verse of Scripture and made it into a wall hanging in our living room. It served as constant reminder of the journey we were undertaking.
"Bloom where you're planted," that's what they say. My children were going to bloom. My bio son, Jack, was going to bloom, too. We were going to be the most gorgeous and prolific garden west of Eden. God was going to restore the years the locusts had stolen from my Ethiopian children (Joel 2:25). All those years without parents, all those years in an orphanage. God would repay and restore, and it was going to be glorious. A splendor.
But six years later, my three oldest kids are still in an orphanage. They have parents, but not legally. Only in name and in heart--and 7,000 miles away. And sometimes, most days to be honest, the situation doesn't seem that glorious.
As I questioned God, asking him WHY they hadn't been transplanted, He reminded that they were planted. They are a planting of the Lord. They aren't planted where I want them, but where He wants them.
And that's a hard, bitter pill to swallow.
Sometimes I wonder whether God didn't think I could handle four children. Maybe my parenting skills or our financial situation weren't up to snuff.
But how could they be better off in an orphanage than right here with me?
I don't have the answer to that.
I wish I did.
I've thought a lot about the concept of planting, and I remember when I was living in South Florida for several years,and I never really felt rooted or established there. But that's where God planted me those eight years, and I had the choice to wilt or bloom.
Sometimes life feels like a series of transitions. You're waiting to finish school. You're waiting to get married. You're waiting to have kids. You're waiting to move into the bigger house. You're waiting for your career to kick off. And you never really feel planted.
But you are. You are where you are. Maybe it's just for a minute, or maybe it's for a lifetime, but perhaps it's possible to thrive and be strong and reflect the splendor wherever you currently are.
Some places, admittedly, have poorer growing conditions than others. But my kids in Ethiopia? They are a planting of the Lord, right in their orphanage, right in the town of Mekelle, smack dab in the Tigray Region, in the Horn of Africa.
And they are getting stronger every day. I see God's splendor reflected in them. Dawit, with his thoughtful questions and gentle kindness toward others. Meron, with her quiet touch and expressive eyes. And Menalush, with her wide smile and talkative nature.
And if a 17-year-old boy, a 14-year-old girl, and a 12-year-old girl can bloom under those growing conditions, I am confident I can bloom (maybe even thrive?) right where God has placed me.
I might not be partial to the soil. The sun may not shine every day. I may long for a stream of water to alleviate my dry and thirsty soul, but it's enough. He is enough. I am a planting of the Lord. My branches may not be as strong as I would like, and I may not be the most beautiful tree in the neighborhood, but God says I am for the display of His splendor.
And because of that, I.am.enough.
(You are, too.)
