I used to be a writer...until I ran out of words. 

I used to love writing. The little quirky things that happened in a day's time. Deep thoughts and sudden realizations. Updates on what I was doing, where I was traveling.

In fact, it was when I was in the Middle East, blogging about having been baptized in the River Jordan, that Ken and I really first connected. He was a fellow-blogger, and we fell in love with each other's words before falling in love with each other's hearts.

And then, when I became a mother, I wrote about the joys and sorrows of having a child. Of losing my mom just a few weeks before I became pregnant. Of funny little things my son did and said.

But then we attempted an adoption of three siblings from Ethiopia, and all my writing centered around that. Other things were still important, but we lived and breathed that adoption for six years. It was all I could write about. At times, it was all I could think about.

As that dream died a long, slow death, I ran out of words. I lost my identity. I became unsure of all that I had once been so sure about. My faith floundered, replaced by a heart-wrenching grief.

I quit writing.

It all seemed so futile. Everything wise that could be said was already being written by bloggers who were making money off of clicks or promoting their books. Their words were so eloquent, so far above what my pen could put on paper. So I linked to blogs. I retweeted others' tweets. I read and thought, but I didn't write. I occupied myself with being angry at a system that favored the strong and took advantage of the vulnerable. I buried myself in painting and art and Pinteresting DIY's.

...

But I think my words might be coming back. This morning, still in bed, I couldn't stop thinking about writing. But where to start? What to write about? How do you jump back into something you loved and left?

...

So here I am, jumping in.

...

I like to describe forgiveness as a two-step-forward, one-step-back process. Oftentimes I think I've moved past something, that I've truly forgiven, only to have something trigger my anger, my disappointment. Sometimes it takes a long walk or a drive in the car to work through those feelings. Sometimes it's five steps forward...and then ten steps back. Very rarely has forgiveness been a singular act for me. It's more like a continuum.

Grief has proven to be a similar process in my life. Sometimes I feel like I've gotten over something...like the disappointment of a failed adoption. Several weeks ago I told my therapist that I was doing good, that I was content and had reached a place of okay-ness. I was able to communicate with our kids in Ethiopia nearly every day via Facebook messenger, and we even had video chats every once in a while. It wasn't how I imagined our family, but it was sweet in its own way.

But then our 16-year-old, Dawit, got mugged on his way to the market, and they stole his phone. His sole line of communication with us. Thankfully he was not hurt, but since then we've only been able to send quick one-liners every few weeks--when he is able to borrow a phone or go to an Internet cafe.

And I miss him. I miss his updates. I miss the girls. I am angry, again. It's not fair. It's not good. Three orphans living in an overcrowded orphanage with a mom and dad who want them..and the government won't allow it because of their pride and their stupid change in laws.

I didn't realize how angry and unsettled I was until I saw two separate social media posts about parents bringing their adopted children home. Instead of being happy for these families, my stomach clenched, my heart pounded, and I quickly scrolled on.

I realized I still have work to do.

I am constantly telling Jack, our 8-year-old, to be happy for others--even when they have something he doesn't. It's easy to vilify others for no reasons other than jealousy, grief, and unforgiveness. It may even be normal. But it's not healthy.

...

As I write this, I am keenly aware that I am again writing about adoption, the very identify that I became lost in not long ago. Maybe that grief--that disappointment--that journey will always be a part of me. I pray it will make me better, not bitter. I hope that that particular grief has become only part of my story, not my identity.

You won't see me walking in downtown Wheaton with three brown-skinned beauties. I won't be known as the lady who adopted three orphans from Ethiopia.(<<-- That's hard for me to admit, because I wanted to be that person. I wanted to be a difference maker--partly to make a difference and partly, I confess, to be known as a difference-maker.)

So here I am, just me. Mom to Jack, wife to Ken, quasi-mom to three kids in another country. A sometimes-writer who is finding her words again. Giving up the feeling that I have to compete with all the gifted writers I read. Enjoying art and painting and reading and sitting on the couch with the two laziest dogs in the entire world.

Pushing ahead two steps in this process called life, realizing there will be missteps and backtracks, and being okay with that.

Last night, we wrote letters to our children in Ethiopia. Ken wrote personal letters to each of them, and I wrote one letter to all three. I wrote the advice I would give them if they were here, living in our home.

Sometimes when I write I think it's for the benefit of the reader, but really it benefits me the most.

So I re-read my letter this afternoon, trying to believe the things I wrote last night--in light of today's circumstances. 

And as I read, I wondered if some of you could benefit from these reminders as well. So insert your own name, as needed, below.

"My dear children, I love you so much and I think about you every day. I look forward to the day when we can see each other again.

As you go back to school after the rainy season break, I want you to remember how important it is to choose your friends wisely. Stay away from kids who lead you into temptation or pressure you to do bad things. Choose friends who are kind, honest, encouraging, and who have good character. 

Tigray, Ethiopia

Always cherish your special friends. Forgive quickly, and don’t let misunderstandings become arguments or end a friendship. You will make mistakes, but always try to do your best. Treat others the way you want to be treated.

When you experience disappointment or hurt, as we all do, don’t keep thinking about those situations or become bitter. Give them to God, because He can take all those bad things and use them for your good.

 

The road leading to our children's orphanage

M....Our youngest daughter

Remember that God is for you, not against you. He loves you so much, and I am praying that He will be very real in your life. I am asking Him to answer your prayers and speak to you through the Bible and in your dreams.

 

Me with M and M

God is directing every step your feet take. He knows the path you are on, and when the future seems uncertain, remember that He can make a way out of no way.

In the Bible, the Israelites didn’t know how to escape their bad situation with the Egyptians. But God had a plan. They started to journey to the Promised Land, but then they came to the mighty Red Sea, and the Egyptians were chasing them. They had nowhere to go. But God opened up the sea and made a pathway right through it! Nobody knew it was possible, but with God nothing is impossible. Nothing! He can do anything!

God delights in every detail of your life, and your prayers will be answered at just the right time. If you feel lonely, remember that you are never alone. God is with you. And even though we are many miles apart, we are together in heart and in spirit.

M...our oldest daughter

You have a mom and a dad and a little brother who all love you very, very much. And so many people are praying for you in the United States… aunts and uncles, cousins, grandmas and grandpas, friends at church, friends at school, friends in our neighborhood… hundreds of people who know your names and love you and want the very best for you. Someday you will meet them and they will say, “Your mom and dad showed us your photos, and I was praying for you!”

 

D, M, me, and M

Listen closely because God wants you to hear His voice. The Bible says He is a Good Shepherd, and we are His sheep. He is whispering to you and saying: “I made you. I love you. I have a purpose and a plan for your life. You are so special to me, and I am going to do amazing things in your life—things that are so good that you can’t even imagine them! Be patient. Keep believing.” 

D—my handsome, strong son: Hold your head up high. You are a child of God, and you will change the world. I love you, D.

M—my beautiful, sweet oldest daughter: Lift up your head, and listen. Your prayers will be answered. Let love in, and be joyful. I love you, M.

M—my charming, pretty youngest daughter: Guard your heart, for your beauty comes from inside, and keep smiling because your happiness warms the heart of everyone you meet. I love you, M.  

Until next time, close your eyes and remember a hug from me. 

Love, 

Mommy

Debunking Childhood Songs, an Adoption Update, and a Prayer Request

 

No doubt you’ve heard the saying, “God helps those who help themselves.”

I hate that saying.

First, it puts the burden on the one who needs help. And second. it’s contrary to everything I read in the Bible.

In fact, the Bible says God delights in helping those who are weary, helpless, and fresh out of options. His power is made perfect in weakness. His timing is perfect, and no good thing does He withhold. That’s what I read, and that’s what I’ve experienced.

As most of you know, after a 3-year long adoption process, we had a successful court date in Ethiopia at the end of December. We were so thankful when a federal judge officially granted our adoption of Dawit, Meron, and Menalush. But now, 23 days later, we still don’t have custody. These weeks have been emotional and difficult because while these children are legally ours, we aren’t able to be with them.

The reasons are purely political. The region where they are from (and where their current orphanage is located) remains opposed to international adoption. So, while we have a federal adoption decree from Ethiopia, their particular region within Ethiopia is refusing to release them.

Our kids are in the Tigray Region.

Our lawyer in Ethiopia has spent the last few weeks in and out of various court buildings and government offices seeking the release of our children, but he continues to encounter one roadblock after another. The details are far too complicated to share, and if it wasn’t so tragic, it would be comically bizarre.

The next step is a court date next Tuesday. In theory, the judge should force the region to comply with the adoption at that hearing. We are hopeful, but we are also realistic that it may take more time. It’s the “back and forth,” as our agency calls it, of political pawns and powerless puppets.

So we continue to ask for your prayers for our children and our family. Please pray that God would soften and convict the hearts of the governing officials and that they would immediately release our kids so we can finally get our children to the capital city (Addis Ababa), start their physical exams for immigration (another 8 weeks), and then bring them home.

I know many of you are shaking your heads, saying this makes no sense. We agree. It’s hard to explain something we don’t understand ourselves. But we are trusting God to make order out of chaos and to intervene where we cannot. This process has tested our faith, but we have seen so many miracles that we can’t deny His goodness, His love for our family, and His sovereign reign over … well, everything. And everyone.

In the Gospel of Mark, a father who is seeking help for his child says to Jesus, “I believe that with God all things are possible, but help my unbelief!”

That’s how I feel a lot of the time. I believe God, but I’m human. I have doubts and fears like everyone, so I need help with my unbelief. The great thing is that whether I believe or not, the Truth remains.

There’s a song I learned as a child in Sunday School. The lyrics say:

“God said it.

I believe it.

And that settles it for me.”

It’s a cute song…but the middle sentence isn’t necessary. God said it, and that settles it.

He cares for orphans. He loves our children.

And He will work this out for our joy and His glory.

Luxurious Hope

When I was in high school, my friend Shelby lived in a house with a hot tub. It was outside on the back deck, and one wintry evening, she invited a bunch of friends to use it. I remember how fun it was to race the few freezing steps from the back door in our swim suits to the steamy hot water and jump in. Foggy clouds of condensation encircled us, and we laughed and talked and had so much fun.

Until we had to get out and run those few freezing steps back into the house, soaking wet.


I don't have a hot tub in my home, but I have created the cheap-o-hack version. On a cold wintry day, when the temperature is hovering around zero, I take the hottest shower I can stand...with the bathroom window wide open.

It's luxurious.

The added bonus is that I get a great view of our backyard. Our bathroom window is up high, but since I'm tall I can manage to peer out and see what's going on.

This morning, as the outside thermometer showed a giant goose egg--zero degrees--not too much was going on in the back yard.

The trees are brown and bare. The ground is covered with last fall's dead leaves. There are no children laughing or playing or climbing or swinging or sliding.

But I didn't see the barrenness. I saw this:

I was day dreaming about our Annual Neighborhood Easter Egg Hunt.

I remembered all the children listening so intently as they heard the story about the empty tomb.

The kids, perched in the clubhouse, discovering the treats inside their plastic eggs.

And this.

New life.

Hope, pushing through the dead leaves and stray sticks, declaring the goodness of springtime. Of God.

For the past two and a half years, I've dreamed about our three Ethiopian children joining us for this wonderful celebration of Christ's resurrection. Of spring. Of all-things-new. Of neighborhood and community and friendship.

And this year...finally...

They.will.be.here.

Lord willing and the Ethiopian-creek-don't-rise, they will be here!

And that gives me hope. HOPE. And joy. And a heart filled with song and toes-a-tapping.

I can't stop smiling.

More than four million orphans in Ethiopia. But this spring, that number will be four million (MINUS THREE).

Hope. The best gift ever.

Today is Christmas in Ethiopia, and my wish for you is that you'll have hope as well. Don't stop believing. It may seem like you've been praying for that thing forever, but hold on.

Hold on to hope.

Melkam Genna. (Merry Christmas!)

My Compassionate Kid: a teaching moment

Yesterday Jack came with me to the church office and was playing while I worked. While there, a young girl (with no shoes) came to the church and asked if she could use our phone. She had just spent the night in County, was released (sans shoes), and walked a mile down County Farm Rd.until she got to our church. Her ride hadn't showed up, and she lives 10 miles away.

She called her friend, and while she waited, I got her a bottle of water and we chatted. Turns out she is 23 with 4 children, ages 7 months to 6 years old. None of the babies' daddys are supporting her or the children. She was picked up by the cops because her brother accused her of being too rough with one of his kids. She spend the night in jail, and was released on her own recognizance--with a court date sometime in the future.

Honestly, she was as sweet and polite as could be. She never asked for money (and I probably would have given her some), and she kept thanking me for use of the phone. I encouraged her as much as I could, because as I told her, those babies need her. Jack and I prayed with her, and then her ride showed up.

After she left, Jack had a lot of questions. He asked if she had been outside all night. So I explained she had actually spent the night in jail, and his eyes got as big as saucers. This girl definitely did not look like someone he imagined being in jail. Then Jack wanted to know why, so I explained that someone said she'd been too rough with a kid. Again, shock on Jack's part. You can go to jail for being too rough with a kid?! It seemed like a good teaching moment, so I talked to him about some of the foster kids we know. "You know kids who don't live with their 'real' mom and dads? Sometimes it's because their parents made bad choices. Some of the moms and dads were too rough with them. Maybe they hit them too hard. So the police said those kids can't live with their parents. They put them with foster parents, like _____ [who we know]. And they give the 'real' moms and dads a second chance to start making good decisions."

Jack's eyes well up with tears. "Will those kids go back to their 'real' parents? he asked.

"We don't know. Some will, if their parents show they can be good moms and dads. But if they don't, the kids will stay with the foster parents, and they might get adopted by them."

At this point Jack stared at the floor, biting his lip and trying not to cry. I asked him what was wrong, and he said, "I'm just so sad for my [foster care] friends."

Me, too, Jack. Me, too.

A Difficult Task

For those of you not on our Facebook page, and/or who haven't heard, it looks like our adoption isn't going to happen.

I could recite all the explanations they've given us, but not one makes sense. As our agency told us, it's mind boggling.

Yesterday Jack and I were out shopping, and he spotted a pink pair of pants. "Mom! I think M would love those!" I smiled and nodded.

A few minutes later he saw some ruffly dresses. "Mom, we should buy those for the girls!"

I smiled again.

"Don't you want to put them in the cart, Mom?"

"Honey, I don't think M, M, and D are going to live with us. Remember, I told you that the Judge said no?"

"Mom, you have to keep hoping if you want it to happen!"

"Oh Sweetie. I do want it to happen, but it doesn't look like they'll be coming."

"Maybe we need to pray more. You know, we haven't prayed about it lately."

I changed the subject, and he forgot. For now.

I couldn't tell him that I pray with every breath, but that I don't pray aloud with him because I don't want him to doubt God. The way I do sometimes.

A few days ago I told Ken that I wanted to buy new linens for the girls' room, the room that will now be an extra room. We're having various guests over the next few months, and I can't bear to have the girly lavender quilts on the beds. They were bought for the girls,and the thought of someone else using them makes me too sad.

It really was the sweetest little girls' room you could ever imagine. The picture doesn't do it justice.

So tonight we removed the girls' quilts and replaced them with gray and white damask quilts. The walls are still lavender; we don't have the energy to re-paint them. It's fine. The room seems drab without the bright pink rug and the polka dot bedding, but it will do. It doesn't scream "little girl room," and that was the main thing we wanted.

D was going to share a room with Jack, so no major changes are necessary in there. The next task will be the clothing. The dressers are full of pajamas, still with the tags on them. Underwear and socks still in the package. Tshirts and jeans and shorts. Dresses and jackets and boots and shoes and hairbows and jewelry and coloring books and Amharic-English dictionaries, and little pink dollhouses and a brand new 10-speed bike in the garage for D, price tag still hanging from the handles.

There's so much to do. So many decisions to make. But not today.

Next week we'll have a conference call with our team in Addis; I guess so they can tell us they tried everything they could and that this journey has come to an end. But until then, I'll hold on to the tiniest sliver of hope. Because we promised M, M, and D we wouldn't leave them as orphans. That we would come for them. And so we can't leave any stone unturned.

Feeling all the feels tonight

Today we received both good news and not so good news.

The good news from our adoption agency is that the regional authority who previously refused to sign off on our kids' adoption has been replaced by a new authority who sympathizes with our situation and says she won't oppose any appeals we make.

So our team in Ethiopia presses forward, working with their experts on how best to word their latest appeal. We expect to get news in the next few weeks on that. The team says they are "heartened," but they don't want us to get our hopes up too high.

The bad news is that our 10 year old girl has been very ill. In their last update, I noticed that she looked really thin, and her skin and hair had tell-tale signs of poor nutrition.

At the end of December she and other children at her school were given anti-parasitic medicine. Several kids got sick after taking the medication, including M. She had such a bad reaction to it that she ended up in the hospital, in the severe acute malnutrition ward. The combination of poor nutrition and bad medicine were more than M's little body could handle. Her blood counts were terrible, and she required two blood transfusions and a 6-day stay in the hospital.

She's back in the orphanage now, but she will stay home from school for a few weeks until she gets stronger.

If you have ever had a loved one hospitalized, you can understand a bit of what we're feeling. We're so thankful M received the care she needed. At the same time, having your daughter hospitalized for something that could be prevented with proper nutrition and clean water is frustrating. Being 7,000 miles away is frustrating. Thinking about your daughter being hospitalized, without any family to advocate and/or care for her is heartbreaking. Plus, she was in the hospital during Ethiopian Christmas. Alone. On Christmas.

It makes me want to punch something. It is infuriating and annoying and frustrating and disheartening and confusing and I just want her home so she never spends another Christmas alone. I never want her in the hospital again without a parent to advocate for her, I don't want her living in a place where anti-parasitic meds are necessary and yet unregulated.

So while we are glad there was a sliver of hope today in the adoption case, it's horrific that these children, our children, are still in Ethiopia when they should've been here 12 months ago. It's terrible that some people seem to care more about their pride and their politics than about giving kids a safe place to live with a mom and dad to love and care for them.

I could go on and on, but I know you feel the same way. It's maddening.

I don't know how this story will end. Just when I've given up hope, we get a glimmer. Just when I've convinced myself that they'll never come home and perhaps it is for the best, something like this happens, and I know the reason we're infuriated is because we love these children so much.

Love>7,867 miles
Love>nationality
Love>skin color
Love>language
Love>everything

...and there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas time...

This video was shot just 80 miles south of where our Ethiopian children live, 31 years ago. Their parents and grandparents survived this devastation. The U.N. has warned that the current drought in the Tigray Region--where our children live--could become comparable to this Famine of 1984. #BearingWitness #NeverAgain

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I never imagined that another Christmas would be upon us and half of our family would still be across the ocean. The three stockings I bought last year for two young girls and an almost-teenage boy are still in storage. And little ornaments I made for them last December were hung on the tree two weeks ago with sadness in my heart.

Yesterday I opened the dresser drawers in the girls' room, and I found neatly folded shirts and socks and underwear--still in the package. A little jewelry bag that I had forgotten about caught my eye--gold necklaces with the initial of their first names. Christmas dresses and lacy sweaters hang in the closet, and D's brand new bike--the one he's been dreaming of--still sits in the garage, tags dangling from the handlebars.

Ready for school

And I wonder. I wonder if the clothes will still fit them. I wonder if D has learned to ride a bike. I wonder if they will have gifts this Christmas. I wonder if they have food to eat, medicine when they're sick, warm beds on cold nights, and hugs and kisses when they are sad.

We got our bi-monthly update on them today, only 2 months overdue, and I couldn't find a single picture where our now-10-year old girl is smiling. She's the more reserved, quiet one of the bunch, but still, it made me sad.

The report says the children frequently ask about us--when are we coming for them and why we aren't there aleady. D tells the orphanage manager that he's trusting God that someday, someday, he will meet us in person. And the orphanage manager confessed to the social worker that he often ignores or avoids their questions--because he doesn't know how to answer them.

And yet, there's still a glimmer of hope. Hope that the drought in the Tigray Region will force the hand of the regional officials who maintain they can take care of their own; that they don't need foreigners adopting their children.

So despite the irony, we continue to pray for rain. Rain to quench their dried-up land. Rain to nourish their fields and provide food for their people. Rain to melt the hearts of stone.

After all, isn't Advent a season of Hope? Hope in miracles. Hope in goodness. Hope in humanity.

And most of all, hope that the boy Mary delivered ... will soon deliver our boy and his sweet little sisters.

Orphan Sunday

Orphan Sunday was observed this past weekend. It's a day when churches around the world acknowledge that we as Christians are called to defend the fatherless…to care for the child that has no family…to visit orphans in their distress.

Almost three years ago our family decided to adopt internationally, and 1.5 years ago we learned about a sibling set of 3 who needed a family. The moment we learned about them, we knew we wanted them to be our children. We weren't sure how it would all turn out, but God kept saying, "Just take the next step." 

And so we did. We took a lot of steps. And so many of you held our hands as we moved forward. You supported us financially, emotionally, and spiritually. You prayed for us and encouraged us. And you all became a part of our story, a part of our children's story...a part of the story God is still writing.
 
I wish I knew how the story will end. We want M (age 8), M (age 10), and D (age 12-almost 13) to be a part of our family. And they say they want to be a part of our family. But pride (on the part of their government), politics, and corruption have way-laid our best attempts to bring them home.

I'm not going to lie...it's the most frustrating, heart-breaking, complex, confusing, difficult thing we've ever gone through. It makes no sense. And it's possible we will never realize our dreams, nor theirs. But we won't give up until the last door is slammed shut, locked, and bolted. Because three little kids need a family, and we love them with all our hearts. 

Will you pray for our children and the millions of other orphans around the world? I can't even imagine what it would be like to grow up without a mom and dad to love me, care for me, protect me, teach me, and kiss me goodnight. 

Thanks for all your love...on behalf of our family here and across the ocean.

‪#‎FourMillionMinusThree‬

Conclusion

Conclusion of the Adoption Journey.


Haha. Just kidding.

You know how when someone says they have reached a decision in a matter, you kinda think they have reached a decision? Like yes or no. Yes, the kids can go with you. No, sorry, the kids are staying here.

Well, we've been told a few times now that a decision would be reached. As you'll recall there were vacations, rainy season closures, appeals from the other side, new arguments, unexpected national holidays, too busy, not enough time to review, etc. etc.

But today was THE DAY. The day when all questions would be answered. Would M, M, and D be permitted to have a loving family, a mother and father to care for them? The waiting was over.

...

Or so we thought.

...

Maybe it's a cultural thing? Maybe something gets lost in translation? I don't know because even our agency, which has worked in Ethio for a long time, says this is the most complicated, never-ending, frustrating case. It seems so clear to all of us. Four kids need a family (our 3 and 1 other.) Their orphanage is closing. Their is a drought in their region. They've been in orphanage care practically their whole lives. No one, NOT ONE PERSON in their country has volunteered to step up and give them a loving home. And here we are. Approved by the state of Illinois. Approved by the U.S. Federal Gov and Immigration. Referrals from pastors, community leaders, friends, employers, doctors, psychologists, social workers. And we've paid money. A lot of money. Much of it donated by you, our friends and family. More money than many American families earn in an entire year.

And the Judge's decision today was to wait and see.

He wants to see legitimate, documented proof from the children's region and from their orphanage manager that efforts to find an adoptive family in country have been made ... and nothing is available.

What will this look like? Will they post an ad in the paper? Will they hang posters in the town center? Will they make phone calls and interview extended family members for the second or third time to confirm they are unable or unwilling to care for these children? And how long must these efforts go on? A month? Three months? Six months? A year?

We don't know the answers to any of these questions. We will try to get more information in the coming days, but for now, we know this:

• M, M, and D (and their little friend S) will not be coming home to us in the near future.
• The case is not closed, and there is the possibility that they will come home to us at some point in the future.
• The Judge said orphanage care is no longer an options, so a family in Ethio must be found for them, or he will give them to us.
• We love these children with all our hearts, and we are saddened by this news.
• We won't give up on them, no matter how long it takes. They deserve a family. 
• God is still good. We get frustrated with Him sometimes. (or a lot.) But He's our only hope. As we look back on our lives, we see how He has orchestrated so many things for our good and His glory. He has said no to some things we desperately wanted, and it was maddening, annoying, heartbreaking. At the time. But later it all made sense. And sometimes He has made us wait for something. We get upset with His timeline...until later when we see how many things were being worked out behind the scenes. So we cling to the hope that this is the case once again. 

So many of you have reached out to us with phone calls, texts, emails, posts to FB, and private messages. Please know that we read and appreciate every one. We truly want to respond to everyone, but we are taking some time to process this latest twist. And we still have jobs to do...Ken with his fulltime work, me with my partime freelance and fulltime mommy-ing.

In all of this, we don't want our work to suffer or our son to suffer. We also have things going on with Ken's mom, who was recently re-diagnosed with cancer. We had hoped that her chemo and radiation the past six months had taken care of it, but unfortunately it has come back. Would you please pray for her -- that God will comfort her, that her pain will be alleviated, and that the doctors will make wise decisions concerning her care?

And please pray for M, M, and D. I asked the social worker today to please report back on what they are telling the children. I want them to know that we love them so much. We haven't forgotten or rejected them. And the only reason this is taking so long is because they are such wonderful human beings that everyone wants them. <3

Thanks, friends. We love and appreciate you.

Again???

Remember last week when I wrote, "We have been reticent to share details about the adoption process lately, because it seems every time we share something, things change."

Yah, that.

So this morning we got a call from our agency at 7:30, the earliest they've ever called. Before I had a chance to say much, she told me that there was another delay.

All these delays were starting to sound suspicious to me, so I probed a little deeper.

Apparently the Federal Court is closed during Rainy Season in Ethio, but one judge stays on the bench to hear very urgent civil cases. But adoption cases are not considered urgent, so normally they are not heard during this season.

This judge, however, took pity on us and our case and agreed to review our appeal. But because it's an adoption case, it's still on the bottom of the priority list.

So today when our lawyer arrived at court, the place was packed, Wall to wall people. The judge started hearing cases and then noticed our lawyer sitting in the courtroom. He paused the case he was hearing and called our lawyer to the front. He said there was no way he'd be able to deal with our case today or tomorrow, and Monday is a holiday, so he would reschedule us for Tuesday the 29th.

Although it's frustrating, this Judge is our best bet. He's known for being pro-adoption, even int'l adoption, and he is very kind and friendly according to what we've heard.

We would have given up long ago if it weren't for three "brown sugars" (as our pastor's wife calls them). Little M, who is 7 and is spunky and talkative and has a smile as big as her face. Older sister M, who is 9 and is quiet and sweet and has eyes that light up the darkest room. And D, our 12 year old soon-to-be-teen, who is handsome, polite, and super smart.

So we hope. And pray.

And we try to learn any lessons that God is teaching us. (Patience? Trust? Surrender?)

And we carry on...because the world keeps spinning and there's still laundry to wash, books to be edited, preschool to attend, code to be written, and meals to be made.

And today we have a birthday party to attend. Our neighbor friend is turning five, and we rejoice with those who rejoice.  And what better way to rejoice than with a Pirate Party?

Thank you for your continued prayers, love, and support.

God's delays ≠ God's denials.

When You've Done Everything

We have been reticent to share details about the adoption process lately, because it seems every time we share something, things change.

For example, the Federal Court is supposed to be closed during rainy season, and normally nothing happens with adoptions during that time. And it is closed...mostly. Except that for some reason, this year the family court judge is still holding court for some cases related to divorce and civil issues, and he decided to review two adoption appeals...ours and one other.

So first we were given a date of August 28 for our case to be decided. Then September 9. Then September 10. Then September 23. And now September 24.

I'm not kidding.

We are thankful the judge is even willing to look at our case since he's supposed to be off, but the waiting and the delays and the rollercoaster of emotions is a lot to handle.

Why all the delays? First, new info had been submitted by the Region and by the Ministry that are opposing the adoption, and the Judge wanted our lawyer to have time to respond to their claims. We appreciated that.

Then he had a personal matter and cancelled court.

Then he decided he needed more time to review our case.

And he was taking some vacation days.

So he said Sept. 23 would the The.Date. The Final Decision. The Big Day. The Day We've Been Waiting For. (Or Dreading...depending on how it turns out.)

But then the Judge was informed Sept. 23 would be a national holiday because the Muslims in the country are celebrating Eid-al-Adha. Oh, you didn't know that? Apparently the Judge didn't either. They seem to set national holidays quite arbitrarily, and more than likely our Judge is Orthodox Christian, so he isn't on top of every Muslim holiday.

It's only a one-day delay in a nearly 3-year journey...no big deal. Still, I was curious to see what Eid-al-Ahda was all about.


So I did a little research, and it's a day when Muslims honor the willingness of Abraham to sacrifice his son Ishmael in submission to God's command ... as well as the resulting intervention by God to provide an alternate sacrifice.

Even though we're not Muslim, and we attribute this story to Abraham and Isaac, not Ishmael, maybe there's a lesson in there for us? 

It's difficult to believe that leaving these children in Ethiopia would be best for them. I'm afraid for them. I'm afraid they will be left to their own devices. I'm afraid our boy will become a street kid. I'm afraid our girls will be taken advantage of or they will be trafficked. I'm afraid they won't have enough to eat. I'm afraid they won't get the medications they need. I'm afraid they will be forced to live with someone who doesn't have their best interests at heart.

I imagine Abraham was afraid to lay his son on the altar. He probably questioned what on earth God could be doing. It didn't make sense. He had waited so, so long for this child. 

This child was his identity. 

The promise of God, fulfilled.

But he obeyed anyway. And God came through, at the very last moment.

Are we willing to lay our three children on the figurative altar, believing God has their best interests in mind? 

I will try. 

And I will pray for their deliverance.