I didn't want to go to church yesterday. I was tired from a busy weekend, and I just wanted to relax. Maybe you've felt that way at times. Your "To Do" list is longer than a CVS receipt. Your baby woke you up multiple times in the night. You're not feeling 100 percent. Most of your clothes are in the dirty laundry basket, and the rest are wrinkled.

And yet. I felt the Still Small Voice telling me to go. And I knew from previous experience to listen and obey.

It was the first Sunday of Advent, the day when we light the candle of Hope.

Sometimes hope is hard-fought for, especially if you've experienced profound disappointment. It's hard to  hope again, isn't it? We look forward to a day of healing and wholeness, when Love incarnate will reign. But during the in-between time, we grasp at hope, watch it slip through our fingers, and try desperately to hold on.

I've experienced deep, bottomless disappointment. Grief over dreams not realized. Maybe you have, too. Hoping again means making yourself vulnerable, letting down your guard, knocking down the wall that surrounds and protects your heart. There's a chance your hope won't be realized this side of heaven. That's the reality.

But in that church service yesterday, when the first candle of Advent was lit, I felt the seeds of hope within my weary heart. 

Hope shines brightest in the darkest night of the soul.

An infant in the row behind me was squealing in distress until she found comfort at her mother's breast.  I imagine she sucked greedily, without fear, filling her empty stomach and calming her cries.

Hope.

When the pastor prayed his "pastoral prayer,"  he prayed for a physician in the church who specializes in mental health care, and he prayed for all of us who suffer from mental illness. No stigma, no condemnation, just love and comfort.

Hope.

Our Bible reading was from Matthew Chapter 1, the genealogy of Jesus. Listed among the line of Jesus are cheaters, liars, murderers, prostitutes, the poor, the destitute, the long-forgotten. "The Bible is honest enough to show us the failures of Christ's genealogy," the pastor said.

And there are women. Women weren't normally listed in genealogies. They weren't highly regarded.

But in the family of God, nobody is excluded. 

That gives me hope.

At the end of the service, my friends Heather and Rick were serving communion. When Heather gave me the bread, she said, "Luann, this is Christ's body, sacrificed for you."  I've taken communion hundreds of times, but something about hearing her say my name was startling and refreshing. And I believed what she said.

Hope.

I returned to my seat, and just as I had taken the bread, my 8-year-old slid into the seat next to me. He had been downstairs at children's church, but he told the teacher he wanted to leave early so he could take communion. Disappointed clouded his face when he realized we'd already gone forward to receive the bread and cup...but I had my cup, still full. I looked into his sweet face and let him drink from my cup. He drank greedily, shaking the little cup until he got every last drop. 

Hope.

Today my dear friend starts treatment for liver cancer. I have been fearful of cancer for as long as I can remember. But when I talk to this friend, I see and hear in his voice the graciousness of God. He was scared at first--terrified, but God has ministered to his heart in a way that I can't describe. He speaks of the goodness of God, the presence of God, the comfort of God, and I have hope. For him, as he fights this terrible disease, and for me, as I lay my fears at the altar.

Hope shines brightest in the darkest of nights. Our hope is Emmanuel--God with us. He shall disperse the gloomy clouds of night, and death's dark shadows put to flight. He will come to us and cheer our spirits, comfort our fears, and give us hope in His unfailing love and goodness.

Rejoice. Hope has come.

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

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!)

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

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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.

Raw Honest Truth

A friend asked me recently if there was any news on our international adoption because she hadn't seen a blog post in a long time. I was reminded that not everybody is on Facebook, so some people don't get my regular updates.

I haven't blogged in a while because it feels like I'm always saying the same thing about our adoption: we need one more paper (and that paper always is changing); it's out of our hands; your prayers are appreciated.

And that's pretty much where we're still at, but with an added urgency for an expedited process. The Federal Court in Ethio closes every year for a "rainy season" closure. We don't know the exact dates this year (they tend to change from year to year), but most likely they will close from August 6 until mid-October.

So, if we don't get a court date ASAP, we're looking at several more months before M, M, and D can join our family. Typically when the judge agrees to hear a case, he sets a court date about 4-6 weeks later. So it is imperative that we get a date ASAP to beat the August 6 closure.

I was asked recently via email how I'm dealing with the delays, and this is how I responded:  

This morning as I checked email yet again hoping to hear some good news from our agency, I was reminded of back when I was single and obsessed with some guy, and I would constantly check voice mail/email, etc. for a message. It's the same now. I'm addicted to checking for messages.


When I do get a message from our agency--and it's about something other than our kids--I am supremely annoyed. Like how dare they waste my time with info about a conference call recording or a new webinar or a program update! My feelings aren't particularly rational or logical. :) I vacillate between having a great attitude and being fully confident that God will accomplish this at just the right time ... to being all-out angry and frustrated and disappointed with God. Sometimes I ride the roller coaster several times in one day. And wow is it tiring! I've never been so tired in all my life from doing nothing but waiting. My mind feels preoccupied most of the day.


And then there's all the FB adoption groups I'm a part of. Some are super encouraging and informative, but others are like watching a train wreck. It kills me to hear stories of children who were probably trafficked, and the adoptive parents are the last to find out. Or their home becomes a living hell after the child gets home, and they question whether they should have adopted. 

God has clearly only given me grace for today (most days!) but I am not equipped to deal with possible future problems for which I have not been graced-up.

We willingly stepped into this journey knowing it would be difficult, so we're certainly not looking for sympathy. But my best self-therapy is writing, and the best thing for our family is prayer. Hopefully today's raw, honest truth accomplishes both.

Thanks for walking with us. We love and appreciate you.

Our Hope

Yesterday at church a lady who had read my previous blog asked, "So what do you do now?"

Good question.

We wait. We pray. And we hope.

So many of you have sent us messages and posted comments saying that you will pray for our little family, and it has encouraged us so much.

Our only Hope is in Emmanuel...God with us. He is Father to the fatherless and He places the lonely in families. He says that true religion is taking care of the orphans and widows, and so we know He is in this.

Our only hope.

But it's enough.

Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, 

you can say to this mountain,  'Move from here to there,' and it will 

move. Nothing will be impossible for you. -Matthew 17:20

This week, as you celebrate Christmas, some very important meetings will be taking place in Ethiopia. (They celebrate Christmas on January 6, so this week is business as usual.) The Federal Ministry has invited all adoption providers to a meeting, and our prayer is that Sebilu, who is director of African Operations for our agency, will have opportunity to petition for our children and other kids stuck in the same situation.

It only takes faith the size of a mustard seed to move mountains, and this is a big mountain we're facing.

We need a Christmas miracle.

I know it's a busy week, but as you remember the Christ Child who came for the lost, the forgotten, the poor, the needy...will you petition for the children in Ethiopia who don't have moms and dads? For our sweet children?

Thank you. We look forward to sharing how God has moved mountains in response to your faith--even if it's the size of a mustard seed.