We Have What We Prayed For: A Gratitude Prayer

Dear Lord,


You did it. You really did. You gave us what we prayed for. We asked, and you answered with the adoption of three Chinese children. A glorious gift.


Remember all those lifted prayers? Oh, how we prayed, and prayed, and prayed for our kids. We prayed, our friends prayed and our families prayed. We talked to you more in our waiting than we ever had before. Day after day, we looked at empty chairs and struggled to carry hope. We tried so hard to trust your promises. It felt like a calling in our hearts, but in our minds, it felt over the top crazy. To say we were going to be the parents of children born to three other sets of parents from across oceans? Ludicrous. We were rational, practical people and this was walking on the wild side.


Admittedly, we wavered. Your promise was clear, but the hardness a surprise, the challenges hard to swallow. The waiting seemed pointless and endless. We couldn’t help but wonder when it would be our turn, and then doubt that it might never be. But, with our mustard seed sized faith, we made space in our hearts anyway.


Then you removed hurtles one by one: immigration approval, TA, consulate appointment, and finally plane tickets to the Far East. We found ourselves in government offices in Hebeii, Chengdu and Nanjing, China holding daughters and a son in our arms. We pressed their inked red feet onto documents written in Mandarin, and our lives forever merged.

 
Yes, adoptions happened before and after ours, but that doesn’t negate the absolute miracle of it all. You, the God of Bible stories, the one who turned water into wine, multiplied loaves and fishes and parted waters was at it again, this time right before our own eyes. The whole thing reeked of glory. Your dominion became undeniable.


The slightest difference in timing might have changed our story’s ending. If we’d applied in a different month, chosen a different agency, or if paperwork moved at a different speed, our gifts might have gone to other homes. Your colossal sovereignty is more than I can conceive. You painted stars into the heavens and placed the lonely in a family. You protected three little souls, and provided life saving medical care.


You did it. You truly did, and we remain always and forever grateful. 
 

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The empty chairs now have bodies in them. The clothes that hung waiting are worn out and too small. It’s years later, and I’ve almost forgotten what it felt like to not have them. I barely remember lingering long on my knees begging you to bring them on home.


Lots of time has passed. We are just a family now.


The dreaming, fundraising and form filling is long behind us. Most days we are just trying to memorize multiplication tables, shop for shampoo, pack lunches and get to drama club on time.


I’m sorry to say, as time passes, the assurance of your presence and power that we experienced sometimes wanes. As new challenges arise, I wonder, yet again, if you’ll come through. My goodness, do I forget easily. You’ve done these massive miracles in our lives, three times now, and then I go and fail to expect you to be intentional. How you must shake your head at me. Forgive me.


For the rest of my life, let it be said that I remember. That I am grateful for your miracle work. That I am awed by your sovereignty over time and place, DNA and citizenships.


Just because time passes and normalcy sets in, I don’t want to forget what you’ve done for us. I don’t want to take it lightly. My kitchen chairs are filled with living, breathing Ebenezers.


Every time a little hand reaches for mine, I want to remember.
Every time I fill a cereal bowl, I have reason to be grateful.

 
The next time I doubt what you can do, please remind me of what you’ve already done. 


Thank you, Jesus, for answering ludicrous prayers, and for carrying us safely into the “wild side”. If I forget, remind me. 

  
Amen.

Originally shared over at No Hands But Ours.




Even Still

“We must learn to realize that the love of God seeks us in every situation, and seeks our good.”

- Thomas Merton

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Sometimes things just don’t make a bit of sense. 

Sometimes, often actually, God allows things to happen that I don’t get.

Sometimes, in the story, rules change, and I’m confused.

Sometimes, in my story, things hurt, and I’m frustrated.

Sometimes I find myself groaning, “Why God, why?”


But, even still, I know…

God is not cruel.
He does not intend harm.
He is loving and good.
Always.
All I can do, when I’m confused and battered up, is chant this that I know to be true. Years of living has certainly tethered my heart to Jesus, but I can’t yet claim “unwavering faith”. God’s sovereignty over all life’s bruising twists and turns is truth in my mind, but my heart sometimes is yet convinced. Sometimes I doubt Him for a bit. How could I not? This world is filled with so much hurt. But, in His kindness, despite my waver, His goodness settles me all over again.
///
Even…
When governments make rules that make no sense, that harm children and blister our hearts.
When a family willing to say yes to adoption is told no.
When a family has an adoption file in hand, a child already in their hearts, but is told, “No, rules changed.”
When a family holds vigil by a broken-hearted son’s hospital bedside, praying with hope for a medical miracle, but the healing comes not on earth, but in heaven.
When children linger on waiting child lists.
When a newly adopted child wants nothing to do with being loved.
When a daughter with layers of medical trauma needs yet another IV.
When a traumatized boy rages, all these years later.
When the surgery has complications.
When the test results aren’t in our favor.
When teens join eager families, but their world is spinning so wildly out of control that they fight love.
When my own little medical needs daughter’s body stops functioning post-up and scrub draped nurses race her hospital bed into the OR at midnight due to renal failure.
///
Even still, God is not cruel.
He does not intend harm.
He is loving and good.
Always.
Sometimes, when life isn’t how I think it should be, when suffering wounds my heart, all I can do is chant to myself that He is good. Reminding myself, willing myself, to believe that He is good, even still. He made us some promises, didn’t He? In those moments, the best I can do is step out a door and let the sun soak life into my skin and allow the breeze to still me. Under the blue of the sky, evidence of Him cannot be denied, and it is there where I can consider His ever present love and sovereignty.
///
He’s the one who rains unexplainable peace in OR waiting rooms.
He’s the one who fills hearts with hope when all hope seems lost.

He’s the one who amasses prayer armies.

He’s the one who sends gentle angels in nursing scrubs.

He’s the one who fully and forever heals broken bodies and promises heavenly reunions. 

He’s the one who promises to someday “wipe away every tear”. 

He’s the one who paints rainbows. 

He the one who washes the earth with rain.

He’s the one who tells the sun to burn unending light.

He’s the one who siphons joy back into wounded hearts.

He’s the one who stirs hearts to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves.

He’s the one who calls more and more new families to say yes to adoption.

He’s the one who pumps passion and the crazy kind of love into the adoption community.

He’s the one who sends the servant-hearted nanny into the orphanage.

He’s the one who sends the friend who “gets” what orphanage behaviors can do to a home. 

He’s the one who placed the spunk and fight in the Chinese-American daughter whose hand holds mine. 

He’s the one who turns night to merciful day, dark to light, mourning to joy, over and over again.


In all things, He is calling me to Him, whether I like the story, or not. He pursues me, and you, in life’s winters and its springs. In its harshness and its hopeful abundance.
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When God allows hurt, I might be confused, but I refuse to believe that He is cruel. He’s promised to be our refuge, our stay in the storm, and to work it all out for our good and His glory. So even when I have to chant it to my own heart, I trust His goodness, even still. He sees things that I cannot. He is ever and always at work within governments, adoption agencies, hospital rooms, families and hearts.

Yours and mine.
God is not cruel.
He does not intend harm.
He is loving and good.
Always. Even still.
“And by accepting all things from Him, I receive His joy into my soul, not because things are what they are, but because God is Who He is, and His love willed my joy in them all.”

- Thomas Merton




God is (Still) Good

Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him.  Psalm 34:8

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Sometimes I don’t like what God does. 
Sometimes I can’t taste the sweetness, because of the hint of bitterness in the heart lesson.
I don’t like when He calls me to something and then makes me wait. 
I don’t like when I’m in one country and my baby is waiting in another. 
I don’t like when governments get between me and my adoption.  
I don’t like when Gotcha Day is less perfect, less easy, than I thought it would be.
I don’t like when being “newly home” is harder than I expected. 
I don’t like when my-already been through too much- medically complex warrior, faces more. 
I don’t like when my child questions where her birthmother is.

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Adoption can push the limits of how good we think God is.  We can start to wonder if He’s fully good all the time, in all things.

We begin the application process spilling over with hope, anticipation and purpose. And then, somewhere along the way, we start feeling the stretch. We start having doubts, obstacles, longings and hurts. We realize adoption is not easy. That the redemption of hearts comes at great cost. We’d long heard that it’s not “for the faint of heart”, but suddenly faint is exactly how our hearts feel.     
The journey reframes our thinking, teaching us its deep and wide lessons. Some lessons settle into our hearts sweet and easy. Others take longer to embrace. And some. Some are only learned from days strung together pleading from our knees.

We tend to love success stories, speedy, positive results and miracle turn arounds. We prefer happy endings. And when we get what we hope for, on the timeline we prefer, we tell each other, “God is good.”

When we hear good news, we proclaim it. Under Gotcha Day photos, friends comment, “God is good.” When a little patient gets good medical test results, “God is good.”

But what about when endings are hard, or we don’t get what we want?  When the timeline we drafted doesn’t match our reality? When a child’s medical needs are more extensive than the file promised?   When attachment doesn’t come naturally?   When the adoption community loses a little life that we’ve all battled for in prayer.   Do we type, “God is good” then?

When we don’t like what is in the cup we’ve been given, we wonder if God truly is good.

There have been many times on this adoption trek, when circumstances felt bleak, that I’ve wondered if “good” meant all the time, for everybody. A few times I allowed myself to consider whether or not I would still think God good if the adoption didn’t happen, or the surgery had complications. When I wondered why a good God wouldn’t clear the world’s orphanages of its waiting children. And post adoption, when so many special needs little people come home with miraculously cured hearts, or are healed after one surgery, but mine had to keep battling, I felt a little greedy annoyance by the “God is good” posts.  

And if not, He is still good.  Daniel 3:18

Since my fleshy feelings don’t always align with my faith, I’m learning to lead my heart. Learning that when I’m raw and unraveled by adoption and parenting high need little people, I need to speak, write, read, sing and meditate on the truths I can’t always feel.

You are good, and what you do is good; teach me your decrees.  Psalm 119:68

Read the rest over at No Hands But Ours. 

*special thanks to Tish Goff for the photos

God of My Children

I had the opportunity to read this, which is a repost (originally published on Ungrind Webzine,) at Created for Care this past weekend at the "Chocolate, Chai and Chatting: Night at the Mic".  I'm sharing again here as "Medical Momma Toolkit" encouragement. 

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Nil per os. A Latin phrase meaning “nothing by mouth.”

 
For six days, an NPO sign has been on my daughter's hospital room door. The sign will stay up for two more days. She is recovering from colorectal surgery, and her fragile system requires it. Dextrose, sodium chloride, and potassium flow from an IV bag to a PICC line to nourish and hydrate her tiny, 21-pound body.

 
It seems cruel and unusual punishment for a little person and this “show love with food” momma. With pleading eyes, she asks, “Loller? Mom, loller?” Her fingers make a W against her chin signing, “Water?” I melt inside, divert my eyes from her confused expression, and distract with stickers.

 

God sometimes allows our tender spots to be punctured. My heart is most fragile for my kids, and as much as I want them to be off limits, they aren’t. When they are vulnerable, this momma bear stands at attention. Slowly though, I’m learning to trust and release my grip.

 
As a new parent, I lived contentedly with the illusion that I could protect my kids. That it was me, myself, and I who met their needs. I planned their days, fed their bodies, and claimed full control of their little lives.

 
I let myself believe that I was their God.

 
Then, little by little, God pierced holes in my control bubble. First came surrenders to backyard scrapes and playground hurt feelings. Then to preschool classrooms and the deep end of the pool. I had to choose to release rather than hold tight.  

 
The Lord kept on pressing into my control illusion, increasingly asking for wider surrender. Next, a mission trip put an ocean between mother and her babies.  I labored over leaving, and planned every activity, outfit, and meal they’d have. To board the plane, more control was severed. And when I returned? They'd made their own plans, had a ball and created a new grandparent bond.  I wasn't so vital after all.

 
Then came hurts that couldn’t be treated by Tylenol, infections not cured by Amoxicillin. First was elbow surgery for one daughter, then two bladder surgeries and a neurosurgery for another. Walking away from my child lying limp under anesthesia in operating rooms filled with computer screens, instruments, and doctors in sterile scrubs, left me utterly helpless and fully surrendered.

 
I had to consider who I think God is to my kids.

 
I tell people I trust the Lord, proclaim His miracles in our lives, but do I actually trust Him with my kids? Believe He’s a more powerful force in their lives than I am? In my head, yes. But in my heart, I can’t honestly say yes just yet.

 
He pushes my control buttons, but doesn't just leave me floundering. He asks me to yield authority of my kids, but He makes His presence known. Weakness is replaced by strength and unexplainable peace comes. My small faith grows. It's roots spreading wide and deep into my motherhood.

 
Now again, here, I must surrender deeper still. I’m sitting with my NPO daughter listening for God’s voice. Truthfully, my heart cries out, questioning why this. My girl is sustained from an outside source, fully beyond her parents. She’s suffering, and I’m stripped of control. I offer only arms to comfort. I blow bubbles, give sponge baths, push the IV on slow strolls, and take vitals on baby dolls.

 

Though I’m rendered helpless, a sustaining source flows. She’s plugged into an IV bag steadily streaming strength. I see the lesson being whisper-shouted into my heart. There is a sustaining Source we can release our children to. One stronger than IVs and ourselves. We parents tend to spin our wheels, worry, hover anxiously, and scramble for plans, trying to be the God of our children.  We underestimate His role.

 
I’m not savior to my kids. I'm limited, weak and just don't have it in me. 

 
I am put in my place this week. Reminded to unclench my fists. Reminded that her Father in Heaven carried her before we ever did.  Reminded that when she was born a preemie with multiple birth defects, He was there.  Reminded that He carried her through surgeries and hospital stays when we couldn't.  His grip is stronger than ours.  His nearness deeper.    His strength greater.  And He's always there.  Just as near as the IV. Just as powerful. Enough, moment to moment.

Perhaps I can worry less, and let my role be band-aids, nail polish, chocolate chip cookies, prayers and hugs.

 
Jesus' promise in John 6:35 means something new to me.  “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

 
And John 4:14, “But whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life”.

 
When I unclench my fingers, anxiety recedes, hope returns, and I can stop striving.

 
The uncomfortable truth is that my children will face challenges that render me helpless. But my trust has deeper roots now.

 
Day six nil per os and her heart still beats. She still smiles and sleeps. So, when the NPO sign is removed, and broth and noodles served, I want to hold onto the lesson.

I’m not a stronger momma now, I am a decidedly weaker one.

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Courage, dear hearts. 


This is post six in the series, "Medical Momma Toolkit: A Tips, Tricks and Encouragement Series". 

 

Chronic: The Race Set Before Us

I am coming to terms with it.  This is not passing.  It’s not over after a surgery, or two.  Or after a therapy session, or three.  The first year is behind us, but there are more miles in this marathon.  I’m discovering what chronic means.  I’m learning that adopting a child labeled medically complex truly does mean “continuous care” and it will “require services from different practitioners in multiple settings over time“. 

 

We knew it would be a stretch, but we didn’t expect to unravel completely.   We cherished our comfy, together feeling, unaware we were wound around the wrong things.

 

Life is now a marathon of appointments,  surgeries, X-rays, nurse calls, research, MRIs, infection, complications, testing, PICC lines, anesthesia, ultrasounds, therapy, and care taking.  And our emotions dart between fear, hope, tears, weakness, hero mode determination, numbness, faith,  exhaustion, new joy, and gratitude.   Human feelings and supernatural strength step simultaneously together.

 

So we must face what chronic and complex mean.

 

The antibiotics will continue. 
The appointments will continue.
The care taking will continue.
The “catastrophic” insurance medical cap will be met. 
More procedures. More medical supplies.  More hurt.  More miles to go.

 

We wonder if our prayer team will start dwindling.
We wonder if people are weary of medical talk and prayer requests. 
We wonder if we’ll figure out how to truthfully yet concisely answer, “How is she?”
We wonder if telling the truth is whining, because we should be running the race better. 
We wonder if doctors are making the best decisions.
We wonder if God wants us to hope for miracles or accept realities.

 

Well intentioned people in our lives regularly encourage us with, “It will be fine.”  “She’ll be fine.”  “You’ll be fine.”  But what do you do when your heavy heart simply doesn’t feel “fine” watching your child endure continual procedures, tests and hurts?   Should we try harder to be fine? 

 

We wonder how parents of more complex children do it.  We think, “Well that family adopted a child with the much harder XYZ disease and they seem together.”  Or, “That family has adopted four kids with complex needs, and are adopting three more, what’s my problem?” 

 

But our child’s pain messes with us.  When discomfort comes daily, tears flow regularly, painful tests are ongoing, and caretaking that hurts is required, there is trauma to process.    Is my faith growing?  Yes.  Am I feeling blessed and refined?  Yes.  But there is still trauma to process. 

 

No matter the internal or external pressures we feel, we must give ourselves the freedom and time  to feel what is to be felt.  To look at the dark parts of the trail and not look away.  God is allowing us to walk through something chronically hard.  From the world’s perspective our child might end the race “fine”, but a parent’s heart still has steps to take.   

 

Read the rest over at No Hands But Ours. 

 

Special thanks to Tish Goff for her beautiful photographs.

Living a Led Life

Follow your heart, they tell you. Chase your dreams. I’m all about the heart, and I have lists of dreams, but I’ve discovered that when I follow this advice, life gets messy quickly. I’m finished following after me.

Because my heart is wishy-washy and can’t be trusted.

The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it? Jeremiah 17:9

Because my plans tend to change and fade.
Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the LORD’s purpose that prevails. Proverbs 19:21

Because my ideas don’t always match up with God’s.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the LORD.
Isaiah 55:8

I am an experience junkie and activity addict. A project planner and dream chaser. A doer and server. I see a shiny activity on the shelf, and I don’t want to miss out. My heart desires to say yes to every need, and my dreams are finicky. So following my heart and chasing my dreams is not the best plan for me.

I’m designed to serve, but I tend to give away energy too freely. I volunteer, make lists, and fill my calendar. Now I’m reconsidering. I’ve pushed myself hard, and am left strung out and weary. Plus, when I serve all over the place, my contributions and fulfillment are inconsistent at best. My intentions are true, but my days are so scheduled that I also miss small chances to help those placed in my path.
 
I get muddled when saying yes to helping. I justify over activity because the work is important. Because I believe that we are called to live lives of service. I see needs and I want to meet them. I am learning though that God doesn’t need me to swoop in with a vision and a plan, particularly when my heart is not rightly focused.

Without realizing it, or willingness to acknowledge it, I sometimes say yes to the wrong “good” things...

To fill space.
To gain attention.
To feed my hero complex.
To feel included.
To keep up.
To not miss out.
To not feel guilty.
To please people.
To please God.
To fill needs that might not be mine to fill.

Even my “good works” can be me focused. I’ve been serving, but have I followed after God’s heart, or my own?

With the hope of living an intentional life, every January I pick a word to usher in the new year. Words like abundance and prayer.

My word for 2015 is led. I want to lead a led life.

I long for Spirit ears to hear His voice above all others, mostly my own. Eyes to see what He sees, rather than what I want to see. A discerning heart, that identifies when I am saying yes to the wrong “good” things. And wisdom to base my dreams on God’s desires for me. In His kindness, He invites me to participate in His work, and He promises to make my paths straight. Those are the only paths I want to walk.

Read the rest over at Ungrind Webzine.

For Sale Sign Lessons & Some Driveway Praying

Showings, showings, and then more showings. 

 For a year, a sign stood in our yard. 

For that year, we left every.single.weekend for a showing. 

Once, twice, three times in a weekend. 

Weekdays?  Free game as well.  We could get a call at any time telling us that someone wanted to see the house...in an hour. 

 

As a result, our love to host selves hosted less.  I had to say no to lots of potentially messy art projects and lots of potentially messy play.  Always in the back of mind I was planning for scheduled showings and potential showings. 

 

We straightened, we cleaned, we polished and then we vacuumed away our footprints.  Then, we loaded the littles in the car, and proceeded to do lots of driving around, looking for free things to do.  :)  Last but not least, we returned home, usually to find them still there, so we lurked down the street until they drove away.

 

One week later, we'd get feedback that the families loved our house, but hated our property. 

 

Fun times.  

 

Like all seasons in our lives though, God had lessons to teach. 

It took me some time, and I resisted at all cost, but I learned a few things...

 

 

~Anything in your life that you want can become an idol.

 

~It is easy to spend much time wanting, and less time valuing what is already had.

 

~The frustrations of parents are often unfairly taken out on littles.

 

~Distraction makes for poor parenting.

 

~A three story home with multiple rooms, bathrooms, sinks with clean running water and a garage that won't sell is a first world problem. 

 

~God cares about the details of your life, but cares most about the state of your heart. 

 

~We are not in control. 

 

~Kids don't care about perfection.  Our less than ideal yard was usually filled with kids collecting rocks and sticks and our extra steep driveway provided all kinds of rolling fun. 

 

 

Then, one day after lessons had been learned, the offer came. 

Two in fact.  A friend had suggested that I lay my hands on our driveway and pray that our steep driveway would not be an obstacle. 

So, one Saturday as we left for showings, I stepped onto the driveway and prayed with my hand on concrete.  Two offers came that day. 

God spoke and I had learned better how to listen. 

The offer came, we signed a zillion papers and we started to pack. 

We took pictures of every room, then got weepy as we boxed up our lives.

A hard year was ending and a chapter was closing. 

As we packed up, we saw our former lives as new parents in reflection. 

And those reflections were sweet. 

 

The house, that we had so wanted to be rid of,

had actually filled us up to full with blessings, memories and gifts. 

 

Lessons learned. 

 

Refocusing Christmas: Our Jesse Tree

The Jesse Tree is an Advent activity that our family started two years ago to refocus our Christmas.  We started with a combination of about fifteen homemade and store bought ornaments that you can see here. 

Isaiah 1:1-2 promises:
A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse;
from his roots a Branch will bear fruit.
The Spirit of the LORD will rest on him—
the Spirit of wisdom and of understanding,
the Spirit of counsel and of might,
the Spirit of the knowledge and fear of the LORD—

Every night, we add a new ornament to a little table top tree and read the corresponding scripture, explaining the story behind it in kid friendly terms.  Each ornament represents a story from creation to the nativity. 

Though our girls are very young, they have LOVED our Jesse Tree.  It is our favorite Christmas tradition in a month filled with holiday fun.  Throughout the month that the tree is up, we'll find them pointing out their favorite ornaments and retelling their understanding of the scripture. 

Our hope is that this will help hide God's word (His story)in their hearts, and that it is a tradition that will be passed on to their children. 

In early November of this year, I was invited two Jesse Tree parties!  Though we already had ornaments that are family keepsakes, I jumped at the opportunity to complete our set and to have a set to give away. 

The hosts, Emily and Marci, each invited 27 people to participate.  At our first gatherings, we read through the list of devotionals and all got assignments.  We then went home, and made 27
(or in my crazy case, 3x27) of that same ornament.  A few weeks later, we got together to exchange, all taking home complete sets of 27 ornaments!

We blogged about our Jesse Tree, and that post has received more hits than almost any other.   I'd love to share with you the ornaments that I received.  I have two different sets of each ornament, plus those that my family made, for a total of three!   Hopefully, my crafty friends won't mind my sharing, in the hopes that somebody will make one for their family!

November 29: Stump of Jesse, Isaiah 11:1-2
November 30: Creation, Genesis 1:24-31

December 1: Adam&Eve, Genesis 3:1-21

(The 2nd ornament is a sheep skin that can be flipped over to represent Adam and Eve's need to cover their sin.)

December 2: Noah's Ark, Genesis 6:5-8

December 3: Abraham & Sarah, Genesis 12:1-7
December 4: Baby Isaac, Genesis 21:1-7
December 5: Abraham's Sacrifice (ram), Genesis 22:1-14

December 6: Jacob's Ladder, Genesis 28:10-22
December 7: Joseph's Coat of Many Colors, Genesis 37:31-33
December 8: Ten Commandments, Deuteronomy 5:1-22

December 9: Ruth, Ruth 1:1-23
December 10: Scarlet Chord/Rope, Joshua 2:2-21
December 12 (sorry, photos out of order):
King David, 2 Samuel 5:1-5

December 11: Horn of Oil/The Lord Looks on the Heart, 1 Sam 16:1-13

December 13: People once lived in darkness, now have seen a great light.  Isaiah 9:2, 6-7
December 14: Fire of God, 1 King 18-17-39

December 15: Lion/Lamb (both are reversible), Isaiah 11:1-9

December 16: "Big Fish", Jonah 3:1-4 (One of my 3!!)
December 17: Bethlehem, Micah 5:2-5
December 18: Esther "Coming to the King" (scepter and grapes from feasts), Esther 4:10-17

December 19: Watch Tower, Habakkuk 2:1
December 20: Birth of John the Baptist, Luke 1;5-25

December 21: Baptism/Jordan River, Matthew 3:1-6
December 22: God's Heart, Our Dwelling Place (Mary's Heart),
Luke 1:26-38 (wooden one is mine!)

December 23: Joseph the Builder, Matthew 1:18-25
(jar has sawdust and nails, other is a handmade wooden tool)

December 24: Journey to Bethlehem/to Jesus, Luke 2:1-5
(Felt sandals are mine!  LOVE the other one though, made of felt with a tiny star attached.)
December 25: Birth of Jesus, Luke 2:6-21

We LOVE all of our new ornaments, and can't wait to add them to our much loved family Jesse Tree.  MANY thanks to Emily and Marci, for their amazing hearts, and foe hosting these parties!

These are based on the Jesse Tree devotionals written by Ann Voskamp, which can be downloaded here.   Because our girls are little though, we just read the stories from our children's Bible. 

May your Advent be blessed, and focused on the birth of Jesus!

Building Blocks of Faith

II Timothy 1:7 Tells us that God didn’t give us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and self-control.

 What a privilege it is to walk alongside families in the first stages of the adoption process.  There is excitement and great fear.  Your heart fills with the joy of new life.  A face from your future dances in your dreams.  There is great joy, but also a deep valley of vulnerability.
"Can we do this?"

"What have we done?"

You wonder.  Can we afford this?  Could I handle a special need?  A toddler?  What about my family?  Can I handle the paperwork?  Do I have what it takes to be the parent of a child of a different race?   Inadequacy.  Vulnerability. 

Although we are on the other side, we know the fears.  We've had them.  The day that we filled out our special needs checklist, tears flowed, and I was utterly griped with fear and guilt.  My instinct was to hide under the bed and beg God to bring me a healthy, young infant.   Wasn't it enough that we were adopting?  At the time that we filled out the medical checklist for Claire, we could go no further than needs like minor heart defect, minor skin conditions, cleft lip and cleft palate.   Saying yes to those was a stretching. 

In the end, God's plans were higher.  The checklist was submitted and control released.    God was adequate, strong, and well planned. 

He doesn't leave us where we are.  The discomfort is a gift.  He doesn't want us to fear, He wants us to trust.  When we are open, we are refined.  The heat gradually shreds us of our fears, our sense of control, our selfishness, our racism, our materialism, our illusion of what is perfect, and our distractions.  We can only endure it, leaning into Him.   Eventually, learning to be grateful.

With Claire's file came the words "cleft palate" and "lagging development".  Suddenly the cleft palate was minor.  But lagging development?   New fear.   All we could do was trust.  Her face was our answer.  Yes.  Yes to her.  Yes to more unknown.

If you're in this process, and are feeling fear, know that most of us who have journeyed before have been there.  You follow adoptive families and assume that they are more together, have more faith, have more money, or more strength.  The reality is that they probably felt those same feelings of inadequacy.  Their adoptions were building blocks of faith.   Now they stand as hope for those who follow after.  God did a beautiful work and they got to live it. 

Our adoption process was a stretching.  The obstacles were plenty.  We walked through fire and fear after fear.   The lessons were heavy, but the gifts too many to number.   

We are well into adoption number two, and our trust is bigger.    Again, we feel weak, without control, uncertain and lacking in faith.  The difference this time is that we know that He is doing a good work. 

Keep moving forward one step at a time, and your fear will become a building block of faith. 

The Story

In the late evening on February 20, 2010, this referral photo arrived in our inbox.  She is Liu Wu Sha, living in the Children's Welfare Institute of Chengdu City in China.  My heart knew she was to be ours. 

I can't pinpoint when the desire to adopt entered my heart.  I do recall telling my parents as a young girl that I would adopt a little Asian girl.  Despite having no exposure to adoption, I've always just known.

A few years later, when I entered college and met Mark, I shared my heart for adoption.   Being the man that he is, he immediately made that part of his life plan as well.  As we dated, all the while talking about our adopted Asian daughter. 

In February of 2006, over dinner as a married couple of almost ten years, I looked at Mark and asked, "Are we really going to adopt?" He answered with a simple, "Yes."  And so, we became waiting parents.  As we poured over adoption agency catalogs and attended informational sessions, our hearts opened for our daughter.  Our "paper pregnancy" had begun. 

We decided on an agency and were formally approved in May of 2006.  With great anticipation and excitement, we began "the chase".  We believed that we would travel to China in 2007.  The road before us appeared short and easy.  Little did we know that we were entering a time of deep vulnerability.  A stretching would soon start to take place.

We ordered birth & marriage certificates, got medical exams, were finger-printed, had background checks, had home study appointments, and on and on.

We took dossier photos to submit with our documents.  (This one includes Sharon and Scott, who we will travel with.  We did not know them at the time, but think the fact that they were in our dossier photos is another "red thread connection").

The road ended up being long and bumpy.  We have walked by faith alone.  I am a fiercely optimistic person, but must admit that nothing in this process has been easy.  From the paperwork stage, we have had to fight for our girl.  Everyone before us waited 3-8 weeks for USCIS approval.  We waited 5+ months.  It was at that time that the feeling of this being completely out of our control began. 

On October 27, 2006, after a very challenging paperwork process, we received word that we were "logged in" in China.   We were in line to adopt a non-special needs girl that we would name Claire. 

Thanks to Dan and Susan, we surrounded ourselves with adoptive families at monthly "First Friday" gatherings.  Our lives would never be the same.   It was at those meetings that we met many adoptive friends, including Jay and Angela, Pete and Julie and Tymm and Laura.  We also met Donna, who would be a major red thread in the process. 

We were excited and expectant.  Each month we blogged about being another month closer to Claire.  We read stacks of books about adoption and felt more and more connected to our daughter. 

Then, the months turned into years and the wait grew staggeringly long. Waiting got hard and "walking by faith" had new meaning.   Tears were shed, and we became more and more frustrated with bureaucratic red tape.  It was hard to understand why thousands and thousands of children wait in orphanages while we sat at home with willing  hearts and a home to share. 

It took us some time to realize that if God was withholding her from us, then it had to be for the greater good.  It was by walking this journey that we came to understand how truly feeble or faith was.  We had been living as if we were entitled and in control.  God intended to do a good work in us, weaning us from dependence on anything other than Him.

"Adoption, even when it heart-wrenching, can be a precious part of our pilgrimage towards God." ~Kristin S. Wong

Luckily, we have had countless blessings along the way. Tears have fallen onto our keyboards as we watched friends blogging through their adoption trips to China, Ethiopia and Colorado. We have celebrated children coming home, and mourned for orphans who never will.  Adoption has altered the course of our lives.  This journey is no longer about our family adopting a child. We are changed, and for that we are grateful.

We are not the same people who signed our adoption application in 2006.  The "slow boat to China"  was actually a purposeful journey.  Our closed door was a gift; a painful experience that was just what we needed.  God showed us our deep need for Him, while also opening our eyes to work that He was calling us to. 

Zimbabwe, April 2010

 Watoto Orphanage, Uganda August 2010

In May of 2009, we submited a medical checklist, opening us to the referral of a special needs child.  Again, we saw only obstacles, as even the special needs wait loomed long.  That same month, Claire entered her orphanage with a cleft palate. 

Throughout the year in 2009, we felt that we were supposed to also adopt from Ethiopia.  We were fearful though, so we kept trying to put those feelings aside as we waited for China.  On February 19, 2009, we finally gave in.  We surrendered control of BOTH processes, and submitted an application to adopt from Ethiopia.   We let go all questions of finances, being a multi-racial family and having a family timeline. 

On February 20th, the day after the Ethiopia application, we received a VERY, VERY unexpected referral.  We see this as a gift for being obedient, and for FINALLY surrendering all control. 

A week earlier, our orphan advocate friend, Donna, contacted us, urging us to consider contacting an adoption agent named Xiaoqing out of CA.   We were skeptical and didn't believe anything would come of it.  Luckily, we felt a prompting to make the call.  THREE days later, we saw Claire's face. 

The process since then has been filled with more bumps and more trails.  We have waited much longer than most for LOA and TA.  We have fought for our daughter every step of the way. 

Since May of 2009, Claire has waited for us in her orphanage.  She has already had her own challenging journey.  She has come through trauma and survived.  Finally, tomorrow, we head to China.  Our journeys will merge, and we'll keep fighting together.

"I am thankful for the trails and tears of adoption and for tumult that may still come.  They reveal my poverty of faith, leading me limping into the arms of my Heavenly Father.  God gives special treasures in times of weakness and pain."  ~Kristin S Wong

Trust

"But blessed is the man who trusts me, God,

the woman who sticks with God.

They're like trees replanted in Eden,

putting down roots near the rivers—

Never a worry through the hottest of summers,

never dropping a leaf,

Serene and calm through droughts,

bearing fresh fruit every season.

~ Jeremiah 17:7-9

Found on Holy Experience, at just the right moment

"Many Things"

Luke 10:41-42 "Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her."

Sometimes I get so caught up in doing the "many things" of Christmas that I neglect "what is better". In this Biblical story, Mary and Martha have an opportunity to be with their Lord. Mary spends the precious time sitting at His feet listening. Martha spends the time being distracted by making preparations.

I love Christmas. I love the cooking for friends, the parties, the baking of homemade gifts, the crafty fun with toddlers, the decorating, the non-stop Christmas carols, the cards...everything. It makes me happy to be with people, to give and to create. None of these are bad choices.


After reading this post this AM though, I wonder, do I spend enough time pondering "what is better"? Am I spending so much time trying to teach my daughter about Christmas that I am missing it myself? Or, am I slowing down to learn, consider and be in awe. Is it making me better? Am I slowing down to take in the miracle? I will today. I'll do a bit less, and take it in a bit more.

Jesse Tree is Complete!

Our Jesse Tree is finally complete and ready for the start of Advent! We got seriously crafty and sewed and painted our final ornaments over Thanksgiving. What is a Jesse Tree you ask? It is an Advent celebration involving daily devotionals. Each day, we will read a Bible story and add an ornament to our tree. The idea is based on the verse:

"A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse;
from his roots a Branch will bear fruit."
Isaiah 11:1

You can find lists of devotionals here or here. In order to be most kid-friendly, we used these lists to compile our own. Each story is taken from the Old Testament, and leads up to the birth of Christ.

Noah's Ark
Mary's Heart
Ruth's Wheat
Jacob's Ladder
Lion: Daniel in the Lion's Den
Watchtower: Waiting for Jesus
Angel
Sheep
Magi's Crown
Joseph's Hammer
Passover: Door with Blood
Donkey (er...kind of...) to carry Mary and Joseph
Nativity: Birth of Christ
10 Commandments
Dove: Creation
Cross: To start Advent

Joseph's Coat of Many Colors
Jonah and the Whale
Earth: Creation
Apple: Adam and Eve

We'll be using these two books for the stories each night. We hope this will be a tradition that our children will learn from, and that this will be a treasured family tradition. Mainly, we hope that this will teach them that Christmas is far greater than Santa and new toys.

I first heard about the Jesse Tree on this Rocks in My Dryer post, and have wanted to do one ever since. Another inspiration was from the Holy Experience. Most of my inspiration though came from one of my new favorite blogs, The Domestic Notebook. Many of our ornaments are total (far less perfect) knock-offs from her blog. Many thanks to these three bloggers for sharing their ideas and ornaments.

A Closed Door, Three Years and Counting

Today marks another major log-in day anniversary. Unfortunately, for now, adoption remains a closed door. Over three years ago, we ran toward the adoption door with great hope, faith, relief, and much anticipation. We knew that we had always wanted to adopt, and we felt like it was time. We trusted that this was a great calling on our lives, so we signed the papers and put every detail of our lives into a dossier that was mailed to China. Three years ago we ran toward the adoption door, but have been waiting outside it ever since.

The great thing about a door though, is that even when it remains closed, you KNOW that there is another side. You know that someday you'll step through to that which you have waited for. The closed door can feel a bit harsh, but luckily our faith is deep. With the passage of time, we just dig in a bit more and trust that the One who opens and closes doors knows exactly what He is doing.

Gratefully, while we wait by one closed door, other doors open. If we had our girl home already, would we care as much about the 147 million orphans in the world? We wonder.

Fighting for orphans is now who we are. We might not have adopted yet, but we can still fight. Won't you join us?

Oh how His ways are better than ours. We'll keep standing by the closed doors and walking through the open ones.

35 Months Waiting for Claire, Still Holding Onto Hope

I read a post on the (In)Courage blog today that was just what I needed to hear about hope. It was written by Diedra. Here is a portion of her beautiful post (word for word):




I whispered ancient words, imprinted on my heart in deep red letters: suffering produces patience, patience produces character, and character produces hope. And hope does not disappoint us...


I know and believe the words to be true, but logic gets in the way every time. It causes me to hesitate. And I breathe fearful and disappointed words into the night: Hope is always about what isn't, I say. It is always about what's missing, I mutter.


We sink to our knees and whisper timid words that ache with barrenness, or emptiness, or grief because of what we've lost, I blame. And then, weaving its way through my accusations, silently and gently squeezing in, just in time, Yet falls from Heaven and slips into place on this altar.
This word finds its way through a small space between our tightly clasped hands. It adds itself, completing and changing the meaning, filling our hearts with truth, and overflowing them with hope.


In that instant I say and know the truth: Hope is not about what isn't. Hope is always about what isn't yet.


We sink to our knees and whisper timid words because of what isn't yet. In moments where we trudge through life between a weathered cross and a not-yet-empty tomb, it brings us to our knees.


It causes us to lay our quivering and undone hearts on makeshift altars in the night. When I stumble over disappointments in the dark, and feel swept away in hopelessness, even then it is hope that causes me to cry out to the One who is faithful, despite my chronic faithlessness.


Our situation hasn't changed, but on our altar, we've shifted our grip. No longer holding on for dear life, together we hold fast to the One who gives life. We have put our hope, again, in Him. We send forth heavy sighs of hope for unknowns that are yet to be.


And though we don’t yet see it, our hands and hearts are open to receive this hope that does not disappoint.