Not About COVID-19

I started writing a book about 12 years ago.

I never finished it.

But I thought I'd share part of it today. It has nothing to do with the Coronavirus, so if you're looking for a brain-break from current events, read on. :)

The River Jordan

In the church that I grew up attending, it was tradition to get baptized in the church after you made a decision to follow Christ. So when I was 12 or 13 years old, I donned the customary white gown and went down in the baptistery waters.

I don’t remember much about it, but I’m sure it was a wonderful experience. However, I always thought it was so cool when people told me they’d been baptized in the Holy Land. It’s not that my baptism was in any way inferior to theirs, but let’s be honest: Somehow my childhood church’s seafoam-colored, giant “bathtub” does not quite compare to the River Jordan. (In Jordan they call it the "River Jordan" instead of the "Jordan River," so that's how I refer to it here.) So when I went to the Holy Land in November of 2008, I was determined to get baptized.

As my tour bus approached Bethany by the Jordan, the place of Jesus’ baptism, my excitement began to grow. One of my fellow travelers was an ordained minister, and he agreed to get into the river with me and conduct the baptism.

But as we got closer, the skies turned dark, and it began to drizzle. Every single day of our trip thus far had been sunny, so I was confused as to why God would allow rain on this day of all days!

We got out of the bus and began walking down a path, our tour guide explaining the significance of each stop along the route. The rain started coming down a little harder, and I wondered if I should call it off.

However, I knew this might be my only opportunity to realize my dream of being baptized in the Holy Land, so I stuck to the plan.

The place of the baptism wasn’t anything like what I’d imagined. The river was shallow, and the distance from one side to the other was probably only about 100 feet. And in addition to the sky looking like pea soup and the drizzle dampening my spirit, the waters of the Jordan were downright murky. The river did not appear at all refreshing, clean, or even close to clean. But I pressed on.

With about a hundred Muslim, Christian, and Jewish tourists looking on, I proclaimed my faith in Jesus Christ and was immersed.

To be honest, I didn’t feel a whole lot different as I rose from the waters. Mostly I just felt grimy. But as we walked back to the bus, suddenly the skies parted and these radiant beams of light came flooding down directly upon us.

One of the ladies in our group exclaimed, “It’s like God is shining a spotlight and saying, ‘This is my daughter with whom I am well pleased.’”

I don’t know that God arranged those sunbeams just for me, but I’d like to think so. You see, sometimes the clouds of life threaten to undermine our resolve. We start out focused, set on doing what’s right, resolved to do what God has called us to do. But then the clouds appear, and we begin to wonder if we misheard the voice of God. We question our decisions. A battle begins in our mind: Is there any easier route? A path without drizzling rain, without murky waters, a path that guarantees things won’t get messy?

But we forget that God is in those darkened skies. He rides on the clouds. He makes them His home. The Lord specifically told Moses that He would come in a dense cloud. Pea-soup skies are His domain. And how we respond to dark skies can make the Father pleased or displeased.

Recently I suffered what I thought was a terrible injustice at my job. I was angry, hurt, and shocked at how I had been treated. I wasn’t the only one. My family and close friends expressed their own righteous indignation. I have to admit, I kind of enjoyed the attention. But there came a point when I had to quit talking about it. You see, every time I opened my mouth, I knew I was sinning. My anger was turning into bitterness, and it was neither productive nor pleasing to God.

I reminded myself that God gave us teeth and lips for more than one reason. When used properly, they can serve as a cage to preventive words from rolling off our tongue that are not edifying, not encouraging, and not kind. “But it’s true!” you say. Yes, but just because something is true does not mean it needs to be said.

When I quit running at the mouth and listened to God, He reminded me that He is in the dark, foreboding skies. Although the skies were stormy and threatened to overwhelm me, God was there. He is the just God who also suffered great injustices. He understands, and He is never closer than when we are brokenhearted.

“God is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18

In Which I Share the Best and Worst of NYE 2020

This is the NYE I thought I wanted,
not the one that actually happened.

When I was a kid, we always celebrated New Year's Eve the same way. We'd invite too many friends to comfortably fit into our too-small home, and we'd play board games and eat foods that only show up during the holiday season.

A few minutes before midnight, my mom would go into the kitchen and round up all her pots, pans, and big metal spoons. Each kid would take a "noise maker," pull on our boots and coats, and go outside to bang pots and pans. We'd yell, "Happy New Year," toot our car's horn, and wait until our next door neighbors came out to toot their car horn in reply. 

(I'm not sure why pots and pans--maybe because my family couldn't afford noise makers? Maybe just a weird tradition?)

One year, however, we did something different. My childhood church decided to have a New Year's Eve service, and the plan was to "pray our way into the New Year."

I was not impressed.

As I recall, at about 11:55 pm, I whispered to my mom, "Can I go outside and toot the car horn?" 

She said no, and I vowed never to spend another New Year's Eve in church again.

And I kept that promise for at least 35 years.

...

This year, our church announced they would be having a New Year's Eve service. I recoiled. 

No way. No thank you. I'm good.

But a small part of me wanted to go. I've felt disappointed with God the past few years, and yet my faith is the one thing that has sustained me...even when it's been as tiny as a mustard seed. I want to be more faith-filled in the coming year; I want to sense God's presence more in my life.

However, my 8-year-old did not care for the idea of going to church on NYE. And I couldn't blame him, given my own history. So we invited some family friends over, intending to have an early countdown at 10 pm for the sake of the kiddos--and the adults who aren't in their 20s anymore. 

However, the adults got carried away with a board game called Telestrations. It's a hybrid between Pictionary and the classic game of telephone that you probably played as a kid. We laughed till we cried, and oh my gosh it was so fun.

Ten o'clock approached, and we didn't realize the kiddos were vigilantly watching the clock. Jack got out the pots and pans (I had recently told him about the tradition), and the kids went outside to wish the world a Happy New Year. 

I caught the tail end of their rousing celebration, and then everyone started to pack up and leave. I completely forgot about the bubbly drink chilling on the back steps, I didn't have a chance to play "Auld Lang Syne" on Alexa, and there wasn't really a countdown.

There were no "midnight" kisses, no toasts, and no photos of everyone wearing their NYE hats and tiaras. In fact, the only selfie I took of myself with one of my friends was so ugly that I won't post it. (Lighting, people, lighting. Especially when you're starting to get neck wrinkles.)

Meanwhile, other friends were having extravagant celebrations in exotic locations, they were dining in the south of France, walking on the beach, taking gorgeous selfies of their gorgeous selves, and sharing their perfect NYE celebrations on social media.

(Perceptions. I fully realize everyone smiles for Facebook, and a happy photo can hide a thousand words.)

After our friends were gone, I scolded my son for not waiting for the adults. I told him that because he had rushed to celebrate, he and his friends had missed out on music, dancing, toasts, and drinking of the non-alcoholic bubbly.

He had been so happy before I told him what all he missed out on, and then he just felt guilty. And sad. He said, "I ruined everything."

Talk about a bad, bad, bad mom moment. 

We sat in the living room, watching the NYE shenanigans on TV, all of us feeling bad. I wanted my cute photos of our celebration! I mean, if you don't post photo-proof of your experience on social media, does it even count? Did it really happen???

I wanted a re-do. 

And then my husband announced that we were going to church. Hmmm. The service started at 10:45, and it was now nearly 11. I said that Jack would be bored, and that we were all in a bad mood. He said we were going, that it was apparent we all needed a little church. 

And so we went. 

We slipped into the pew, half an hour late. There were probably a hundred or so people gathered, and only a handful of children. They had stations set up in the sanctuary, where you were supposed to do something...to be honest I've already forgotten, but I think it was something about giving your disappointments from the previous year to God.

Whatever. I was still so mad--and I felt incredibly guilty for stealing my son's joy.

In the first 5 minutes that we were there, Jack told me at least three times that he was bored. His attitude wasn't helping my attitude, but I couldn't really blame him. It *was* a little boring for an 8-year-old. So I whispered to Ken, "Let's go."

Ken shook his head no.

Umm...what? My people-pleasing husband was telling me no?

I waited a few minutes. Again, I whispered to Ken. "Let's leave." 

He stood up, and I grabbed my hat and coat, ready to make a quiet exit. But instead of walking out, my husband was walking toward one of the stations.

Well this was awkward. So I followed him, participating but not participating.

The whole church sat in silence for several minutes. And to be honest, the silence was good for my soul. I needed that stillness to reflect. On my year, on my faith, on my disappointment both with God and how our NYE party had ended. On my selfishness, on my stupid idea that making Jack feel bad would somehow make me feel better. On my need for social media affirmation of a good time. On another holiday season with 3 of our children living 7,000 miles away.

And then we sang, in one voice. We sang praises to God. We dedicated the new year to Him. We took communion, we prayed. And with just under a minute left in 2019, we did a countdown. We hugged and we kissed. We wished each other a happy new year.

...

On the way home, Jack said he was glad we went, that although it had started out boring, that he really enjoyed himself--especially the whole church counting down. We went home, watched the ball drop (we had recorded it), and we played Auld Lang Syne on the Alexa. Ken and I danced, and Jack came over and squeezed in between us--as we like to say--like bologna between two slices of white bread.

And in that moment, we were happy. Truly happy. 

It's been a long time since I banged pots and pans on NYE. It's been even longer since I watched a new year arrive while being at church. Sometimes traditions are forgotten, replaced by the new. But sometimes things come full circle, and you can't help but be thankful. 

For your past, for today, and for new beginnings.

Happy 2020, dear friends.

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.

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.

Art > Therapy

I've recently started designing covers for our church bulletin.

Initially I used free printables for the cover, but then Easter came, and I couldn't find what I had in mind.

I've been "doing" graphic design for nearly 20 years, but for the most part, it's been basic photoshopping.

So when I couldn't find what I wanted for our Easter service, I decided to go out on a limb and make something original. I knew the main focus would be "Christ is Risen," but I also wanted to include something about death being defeated when Christ rose from the dead.

I made a pastel watercolor-y background in blue because it reminded me of a robin's egg--perfect for springtime.

I used gold letters to announce the resurrection because gold seems kingly, royal. I tried to give each letter a gradient to make it look more like brushstrokes, and although it's not super obvious on the screen version, the printed version had a bit of a glimmer in the gold letters. (I credit our awesome printer at the church office.)

Then I wanted to add the "Death, where is your sting? Hell, where is your victory?" verse, but it started feeling cluttered. Since I wanted this to be a lesser focus on the piece anyway, I used a white font so it appears that the sting of death is fading in the light of Christ's victory.

Here is the final result:

The next Sunday was April 3, and I wanted to again do something seasonal. But the only thing that kept playing on repeat in my mind was "April showers bring May flowers." (or Mayflowers...)

A fun little poetic saying, but not actually in the Bible. Then I thought about clouds, one of my favorite subjects in the Bible. Although I've personally felt like a rain cloud's been hovering over me the past few months, I wasn't sure it would be appropriate for our church bulletin.

So again I turned to Google and found a Bible verse I don't recall ever reading before.

"Oh, that we might know the Lord!
    Let us press on to know him.
He will respond to us as surely as the arrival of dawn
    or the coming of rains in early spring.”   -Hosea 6:3 (NLT)

Wow. What a word picture.

And then I found a watercolor painting that was so awesome, and I really, really wanted to "borrow" it for my cover.

But somehow, stealing an image for church didn't seem quite right. So I again set out to create my own version.

Turns out I'm pretty slow figuring out all the amazing features Photoshop has to offer, but oh.my.goodness--there are some amazing features on Photoshop! I started with this photo of pink rain boots I found online.

I added a whole bunch of filters and brushes until they looked water-colorey. And a little less bubble-gum pink.

(See the little circular puddles of rain under the boots? No idea if they are correct in terms of direction. Making them was nearly the end of me...but I liked the effect.)

I downloaded some free fonts that looked kind of rainy.

Then I made a paintbrush in Photoshop in the shape of a raindrop and added about a million of them in varying sizes and colors.

And then the flowers. I needed something bright and cheery to add a splash of color, but creating actual flowers is beyond my skill level. So I found some clip art flowers, changed their size, shape, and color scheme, and played with them until they looked like they could actually be coming out of a rain boot.

(Does anybody really plant flowers in a rain boot? Would be a cute idea, but who would want to fill an adorable pink pair of Wellies with soil?)

Approximately 29 hours later, I had created this:

I wanted to emphasize two things: First, the truth of the verse...He will always come to those who seek Him. And second, even rain--dismal as it can be at times--is part of the process of creating something beautiful.

I added a faux matte frame to this version. I popped it in a $2 Ikea frame, and I love it for spring decor in my office.

I'm working on more cover art for April, so come back soon to see my latest creative adventures.

Bribery

Twenty-five years ago I was a college-aged student teaching English in Eastern Europe. It was soon after the fall of Communism, and anything seemed possible.

My team and I decided to take a jaunt from Bulgaria, where we were stationed, across the beautiful blue Danube River, and spend the weekend in Romania.

Romania was fascinating. They'd had a bloody revolution just a few years earlier, and the buildings were still riddled with bullet holes. We visited a cemetary filled with graves of young men and women, most of whom were the same age as us, who had died fighting for freedom.

The trip back to Bulgaria was tricky. Long story short...we didn't want to wait for the train to cross the border, so we decided to walk across the bridge into Bulgaria. This had been done previously with no problem, but this time Romanian border guards, outfitted with Soviet sub-machine guns, were not accommodating.

As a twenty-something full of nationalistic pride, I truly believed the American dollar could solve most problems. And truth be known, so far in my journeys it had. But these guards were different. They were offended and angered that we though we could "buy" our way across the bridge. (Maybe $20 wasn't enough?!)

They took our passports, forced us into a border office of sorts, and let us sweat it out. Literally. For hours. Finally they pushed us on to a terribly overcrowded tour bus, threw our passports at us, and told the bus driver to take us across the border.

They never did take our money.

I thought of this story this afternoon while talking to our international adoption case worker. Our adoption of three siblings from Ethiopia has come to a seeming stand still. We need documentation that the regional government exhausted all local options for our children before signing off on their international adoption. The federal government is requiring it. Unfortunately, that piece of documentation was not required when the regional office signed off, and the regional office is no longer issuing ANY papers for international adoption from their region, so basically we're at a stand-off.

The Feds say we must have the document. The Regional office refuses to give it. The Feds say, "Keep trying to get it. One phone call or one letter is not enough."

Our agency tells the Feds, "We have tried and tried to get it. They are refusing."

The Feds say, "Try again."

Our agency says, "Think about the best interest of the children. Think about the hundreds of pages of documentation and eye witness testimony we have provided that say these children have been in institutional care for seven years. Their parents are deceased. Extended family members have appeared in court and said they are unable to care for them and they are OK with an international adoption."

The Feds say, "Try again to get the paper."

The Region says, "No."

And so round and round we go.

A dear friend offered to give us the money to fly over their ourselves to sort this out. Another sweet friend said she would be willing to go over there and see what she could do.

But here's the thing: Ethiopian culture is not like our culture. The more pressure we put on them, the more they feel backed into a corner, and the more resistance they put up.

Our team in Ethiopia have several contacts within the Ethiopian government. The agency's African director, and Ethiopian man, is well respected and has worked through situations like this before. But it takes time. Sometimes lots of time. But because he is Ethiopian, he knows the cultural aspect that we as Americans don't understand.

If it were up to me, I'd contact my congressional representatives and have them put pressure on the Ethio government. I'd start a petition and have all 400 of my Facebook friend sign it. I'd demand they hand over these children.

Or, if I got really desperate, I might consider throwing money at the situation. Because the might American dollar solves everything...right?

But that wouldn't work. It would probably make things worse. (And if the money did work, I'd have to live with the knowledge that I contributed to systemic unethical adoptions...which is really human trafficking...)

Today I was brainstorming/commiserating with a friend, and we were thinking about who we knew that could help with the situation. Later in the afternoon, I thought of someone.

His power is greatly underestimated, and yet He alone can change the hearts of those in authority.

He could change the hearts of those at the regional level, and put it upon them to submit the necessary document.

He could change the hearts of the federal authorities, and put it upon them to think about the best interests of the children, and release them without this paper.

Or He could do something entirely different, a solution that my finite mind has not yet considered.

---

So many of you are praying. Cousins and aunts and uncles in California and Texas and Florida and Connecticut. A Sunday School class in Fort Lauderdale. Grandmas and grandpas in Texas and Illinois. Friends in Colombia and Iran and Wheaton and Elmhurst. Friends at Faith Baptist Church in Winfield. Lifelong friends from Harvard Ave. and Willowbrook. And countless Facebook friends and acquaintances.

Our three Ethiopian children very well may be the most-prayed for children in the world.

But could we humbly ask you to keep praying? Every kid deserves to be in a family.

In my moments of doubt, I start thinking this is never going to happen. I can see what God has done to get us this far, but I also know of other families that have gotten this far and everything has fallen through.

Our social worker has assured me today that they are not giving up. That's not their style. But sometimes my fears overtake my sensibilities. I look at the photos of these three and think it's too good to be true--that they could be ours, and we could be theirs.

But God.

I know all things are possible, but we need God's gracious hand to move. I'm trying to be patient, but I also want the healing to begin. I want to see the redemption that is going to happen.

And the Winner Is...

Now that I have you attention, I want to write about something other than the winner of the free book. But I promise...I will tell you the results of our drawing in just a minute.

I was sitting in church this morning thinking about our Ethiopian kids and some of the recent snags we've hit in the process. They aren't anything major at this point, but they are annoying little things that delay bringing our children home.

I could be mad at the Ethiopian government for changing the rules mid-game. I could be upset with out agency for not foreseeing these issues. But they aren't the enemy.

There is an Enemy, and he is very real. He's called a Liar and a Thief, and for good reason.

He lies to me and to you and to my kids in Ethio all the time. He says we're not good enough. He says we don't belong. He says nobody will ever love us. He says we're unworthy. He says things will get worse.

And he steals. He steals our joy. He steals our hope. He steals parents from children. He steals our mental and physical health. He steals our sense of well-being.

I believe every snag we hit in this adoption is another attempt by the Liar and the Thief to keep our kids from having what every child deserves--a mom and a dad. A family. Grandmas and grandpas. Aunts and Uncles and cousins. Because if you don't have any of those things, it's hard to believe in a good God who loves you.

I can't think of anyone more vulnerable than a child without a family to love and protect him.

And I believe the Liar and the Thief would like to prevent our kids from belonging to a family and a church family who loves them and tells them the truth about God, about life, about death, and about themselves.

You can fully trust the Liar to do what he does best: lie. And usually about the things that are the most important.

...

If you are the praying sort, would you say a prayer this week for our kids? There are some important meetings where our Ethiopian team will meet with government officials to try to find out just what they need to provide to get things moving. Decisions will be made which we have no control of.

But God...

The authorities that exist in Ethiopia have been established by God. Their hearts are in God's hands. That's what the Bible says, and I choose to believe it.

God is able. More than able.

...

And now...on to the original purpose for this blog... our WINNER!

We printed every comment that was left on the blog and on Facebook, and we cut them into strips which we folded and put in a bag. At dinner Saturday night, we had Jackson pull out a piece of paper. And he pulled out... mine! For real. Forty some strips of paper, and he pulls out the one we accidentally included (I had commented on the FB post).  #ThatsMyBoy

Not to worry, we had Jack choose another one, and I'm super happy with his second random draw. 

The winner is a fellow adoptive mom and Wheatonite, a writer, and an advocate for modern-day slaves. She has authored 13 books (maybe more?) and is an avid reader. She's been a part of the same book club for more than 15 years. I first met her more than 15 years ago because her husband was my boss. Now that I freelance, I'm my own "boss," and I like to joke that he is *still* the best boss I've ever had.

*Drum roll, please...





Congratulations to Terri Kraus! Let me know which of the books you'd like, and I'll get it right out to you.

Thanks to everyone who left comments. It was encouraging and fun to see all the people who were reading.
...

OH, and just for fun, after we pulled Terri's name, I let Ken pull a name out of the bag. Guess who he pulled? His mom. Like father like son. :)

Hopes and Dreams

I had a conversation with two of my cousins last year that has stuck with me. We talked about our hopes and dreams for our kids, and how we want more for our kids.

I don't think that's unusual--most parents wants their kids to go further and be more successful than they have been. But my cousins and I were not talking about material success. We were talking about the desire to see our children have a greater faith in God than we do. To love Jesus more than we do. To be more diligent in prayer, steadfast in love, and saturated in grace.

When I think about the children that Ken and I are adopting, I think about the dramatic change in course their lives will take in a few months. They don't know it yet, but they will be given the chance to go further and do more than their biological parents. They won't worry about whether there will be enough food to fill their growling tummies. They won't die of malnutrition or treatable disease. Water will be clean and safe to drink. They will get an education that rivals the best in the world. And they will have a family who never gives up on them, loves them forever and ever, no matter what may come.

But will they think about the years they lost in the orphanage? Will they wonder if God forgot them?

It would be great if they are on the honor roll, excel in sports, get a scholarship to university, meet and marry a wonderful person, live in a comfortable house, and have a high-paying job.

But ultimately none of that matters to me. I want them to know God. I want them to believe without a doubt that He was always there, always watching, always loving--even when their future looked bleak. I want them to experience God's goodness, His kindness, His favor.

Of course I want this for Jackson as well, but it's my special prayer for these three children who have faced so much hardship in their young lives.

This song gives me chills every time I hear it. It's been true in my life, and I pray it's true for my children as well.