The Three Amigos

When Mollie & Charlie first came home, there was definitely tension between them and Grace.  They easily understood Henry's role as big brother, but who was this person who was Charlie's same age and not much bigger than Mollie? Combine this with Grace's utter confusion as to why her new little sister didn't immediately worship her and why were Mommy and Daddy paying so much attention to these new kids and it kinda was a debacle.  Seriously.  

Grace had a tantrum during our "airport moment" because Mollie didn't know who she was and wouldn't kiss her.  

There were also moments early on when I thought Grace was going to hate her new siblings forever and vice versa.  We called Charlie & Grace the Weasley Twins (and still do) because for certain the only times they got along was when they were managing mischief. 

But then one day I realized their fights were no longer born of fear or insecurity, but plain old sibling rivalry.  Charlie & Grace discovered they had similar energy levels and interests:  gymnastics, Little Einsteins, dress up, Ninjago, dancing, eating, and idolizing Henry.  Grace began including Mollie in more of her traditionally "girlie" pursuits and found that they both could cook a mean wooden food soup, had an affinity for cell phones, tutus, and My Little Ponies, that when it came to stuffed animals, Ketchup, or Snappea Crisps--more is always better.

I am so moved by the work that God is doing in each of their hearts. It's an encouragement to my weary soul.  He's truly knitting those three together.  They play so well together out of thin air, creating a world full of dragons and fairies and ninjas and babies out of nothing but a blanket and all the couch cushions.  I often hear then telling each other they like one another or that they're each other's best friends.  

I rarely am concerned that Grace & Charlie are secretly plotting to take over the world and make us their minions.  (I mean I'm certain they have a plan in place, just that they're delaying putting it into operation.  At least until they get more chocolate chips.)

But Grace got a medal at school today during an Olympics game.  She promptly gave it to Mollie for being the best little sister ever.  And then she said, "Sorry Charlie.  I don't have anuvah medal for you.  But you are my bestest 4 year old brother and I love you."  He said, "I loves you too!" And then squeezed her tight til they fell over laughing.  

My cup runneth over. 

How to love the crazy adoption people...

My dear friend Lisa, along with her family, is in Lithuania.  They have adopted the adorable Asher and Annalise, 4 year old twins.  Asher and Annalise join sibling Adeline and Alden.  These friends are precious to us.  We met them only a year ago through a mutual friend but it was an instant love connection.  Our husbands get along; our kids want to marry one another.  And we all love Jesus and adoption and pizza from Costco.  (You, know, the trinity of important things…)

Anywhoozie, Lisa is about to come home and I’m just reupping my blog and I thought I’d reflect on our first few weeks home in order to help her.  Most friends, though well meaning, have zero idea what it is like to bring an older child into your family through adoption.  It is foreign and so those well meaning friends often do harm when they mean to help, or worse yet, do nothing at all.  So here is my version of how to love an adoptive family.

First of all, read Jen Hatmaker’s How to Be the Village.  Jen does an excellent job of setting the stage of what adoptive family’s go through after the big hoopla of the airport moment. 

Many people will say “Oh, you went from 2 to 4!  It’s like you brought home twins from the hospital!”  Um, yes, but a bajillion times harder.  It’s similar because your expenses doubled and you are sleeping approximately 2 hours a night, but that is really where the similarity ends.  Babies are pretty easy.  You have a baby and people expect you to be tired and bring you stuffed animals and meals and the world’s cutest socks but really all you are doing is wiping poop, producing milk, and watching Netflix whilst the smooshy balls of flesh sit still where you put them.  I mean, a baby doesn’t crawl under the bed in defiance right before your in-laws show up to meet their grandchild for the first time.  A baby can’t lob the remote at your head or stand on the kitchen table or forget that you said to not eat the soap.  You bring home two preschool children and despite the fact that you are getting no sleep and these kids don’t know what you are saying nor what it means to be in a family, everyone asks you to meet them at a park and to touch them like they’re the newest addition to the petting zoo… “Ooooh, their hair is so soft, I never expected that!” 

Ouch, Elizabeth, now it sounds like I will just screw it all up, when I want to love my friends.  What can I do????

Make meals.  We were blessed with meals three times a week for close to two months.  There were so very many days that I’d been up for so long and spent so much time in “come to Jesus” meetings on the time in couch that I couldn’t form sentences, much less a meal. (And did I mention that while I was in those time-ins with one child, the other children were unfolding the five loads of laundry I’d just folded while we watched Cars two times in a row.) A couple of weeks ago, I was so proud because I’d planned this yummy crock pot meal.  I’d set the table!  We were using real (not paper) plates!  I’d even managed to sweep up the cereal from breakfast, so our kitchen was neat.  And then it was around 5pm that my darling husband noticed I’d forgotten to actually turn on the crock pot.  Y’all, I would’ve cried, but by this point, I was so used to dropping all the ball all the time that I realized from now on my role as Mom was to just roll the ball.  I could no longer juggle. So we went out for pizza. 

So cook.  And make something normal, please.  No lentil salad or tofu lasagna.  It does the family no good if you bring over some wackadoo meal and they still have to order pizza to feed the family.  Because chances are they’ve already had pizza three times already this week.

Do the grocery shopping.  If you live near the family, whenever you go to the grocery store, text your friend.  Sometimes you picking up a gallon of milk or another 8 pack of yogurt will save the day, and really, how hard is that?  Things that would be a blessing to a just home from the airport family:

-milk
-cereal
-frozen pizzas (are you recognizing a theme here?)
-eggs
-kid friendly yogurt
-oreos
-goldfish (and other “pack in lunch” items especially if they have school aged kids too)
-bread
-rice
-deli meat
-spaghetti sauce
­­­-bag of salad
-paper plates
-small plastic cups (not giant 16 oz solos, but ones for kids)
-paper towels (seriously!!!!)
-kids’ band-aids
-fruit: bananas, apples, grapes, clementines, strawberries (things that are healthy that can be offered to a child that has known starvation at anytime without a parent having to feel guilty)
-ice cream
-beer
-wine (lots!)

Fold laundry.  Come over one night after the kids’ bedtime and offer to watch TV and fold laundry. Most likely, your friend will first refuse this offer.  Offer again.  Say, “How about I just fold the kids’ laundry and linens?  You won’t even have to say words or think or even help, you can just tell me how you like your shirts folded and stare off into the mid-distance.”  A friend did this for me and I still cry when I think about it.  In fact, I hired a friend to come for a couple of hours every week just to fold my laundry and vacuum.  Adopted kids often regress in the potty department so it is not abnormal for the addition of adopted kids to multiply the laundry exponentially. Maybe your friend thought they were potty trained but they aren’t.  Or maybe they don’t know how to wipe and so even though the kid is going in the potty, they still have to change clothes 47 times a day.  Or perhaps the kid is so ecstatic about having their own clothes that they don’t have to share with anyone and drawers to call his own that the child changes clothes every 5 minutes.  Your friend knows she should probably say something but a)how can you blame a kid who has had so little for so long, and b) that would probably require moving and/or dodging a shoe.  Or *cough, cough* maybe a child who has been in the home since birth with the addition of two new siblings has suddenly lost the ability to go pee and poo in the potty but also refuses to wear pull ups because she’s been in panties for over a year. 

Check in.  Send texts.  Most likely your friend is lonely and starved for adult conversation.  And possibly homicidal because of all the pee and poo everywhere.  That said, don’t assume that because things are hard they regret their decision.  Or maybe they momentarily regret it.  With a lower case “r”.  Which then makes them feel guilty and horrible.  So don’t say things like, “What?  Is it harder than you thought it would be?”  Because more than likely your friend has spent hours researching and training, but when the time comes, no one really knows what to do when your child screams and thrashes and throws whatever loose object they can find at your head for 45 minutes because you dared to strap them into the car seat. And don’t say things like, “Well at least you are now together!”  Because that completely negates your friend’s feelings.  It’s like telling a woman with severe morning sickness she should be thankful for the puke on her shirt. 

Your friend has done things she never thought she’d do in these trying times—let the TV stay on 24 hours (hey—it’s teaching them English!), gone to the pharmacy in pajamas, yelled at the kids so loudly her throat was raw, seriously pondered nudism as a means to reduce the laundry, driven around aimlessly for two hours because all of the kids fell asleep in their carseats, cussed out her spouse, given the kids bubble wands then locked them outside, and locked herself in the bathroom with her phone (that candy isn’t going to crush itself). 

Whatever you do, DO NOT GIVE PARENTING ADVICE unless you yourself have parented an adopted child.  It’s so very different.  And it’ll make your friend want to punch you in the face.  You know how it’ll take ten minutes to get out the door with your kids, so you just say, “Fine then! We are leaving without you.  Goodbye.”  You can’t say that to a kid who has actually been abandoned.  To a kid who has been abandoned or orphaned through death, you can’t send them to their room when they misbehave.  They’ve already been sent an ocean away from everything they know.  Every parenting decision, every consequence given,  must be done through the lens of trust-building, relationship affirming.  So when you see your friend offer a do- over to a kid who just hit her because he’s mad, don’t say, “Oh, in my house that would get a whoopin’.”  Because more than likely, your friend’s adopted kid has already had more than his fair share of whoopins’ and your friend is trying to both earn her kids’ trust and also teach him the appropriate way to deal with his anger and disappointment.  Kids who come from hard places have this intense internal struggle.  How do I grab on to this new family while grieving the loss of my first family?  How do I suddenly accept help from a parent when I’ve done it all on my own for so long?  How do I accept that these people are telling me I’m precious and adored when the circumstances of my life tell me differently?  These are very difficult and adult and complex emotions being sorted out by teensy tiny immature people.  It's no wonder there is crap everywhere.  (Gosh, why won't she stop talking about poop?)

Send your friend money, gift cards, jewelry.  No really.  Money because adoption is expensive and more than likely, your friend has at least 10k in debt.  And the need to pay it off isn’t helping your friend relax in the 2 hours a day she gets alone.  Gift cards because your friend needs a million things from Target and WalMart.  She needs pants because their newly home child has gained 7 pounds in two months.  Baby wipes because one of the children put two bins of wipes down the toilet.  A plunger (see previous sentence).  More Doritos, because, well, just because.    And getting to go shopping without having to price out every little thing is such a joy and Target has baskets that three kids can be strapped in so it’s the closest to normal your friend has seen in awhile.  And jewelry, because, y’all, she needs it.  A dear new friend gave me the cutest Stella and Dot studs yesterday at church.  Just because she loved me and wanted me to feel special and loved.  Oh my goodness.  I may not have bathed today but on my ears are the loveliest pair of sparkling earrings reminding me that Jesus sees me and is for me and so is my buddy Nicole.  Even if I can smell myself, especially when I can smell myself.  

We’ve been home almost 4 months.  And this crap is still happening.  (Though, honestly, a lot less.  Or at least the kids have gotten used to the car seats and now all sleep in their own beds.  Most of the time…)

Ok, so now you are thinking, holy heck!  What did my friend sign on for?  Why on earth would anyone adopt?  Go into debt and get shoes thrown at me? No, thank you.  Because while it is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done/am doing in my life, it is also the most joyful.  There are days it feels like death.  But even those days bring me closer to my Jesus than ever.  I know what my adoption cost him.  It was bloody and precious.  And well, this holy calling of adoption puts our family in this raw place of genuine living that it’s almost a high.  A joyful intensity that can only be accurately described as bordering lunacy.  Unbeknownst to him, I think adoptive families are the ones Keroac wrote about:

“the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!"

We aren't Dead

So, it's been three and half months since we brought Mollie and Charlie home.  I haven't written much because a) I am so very tired, b) um, I have four kids 6 and under so there is no time, c) I feel like so much of our life right  now is sacred and private and not my story to tell, and d) I spent a good bit of that time in a cave of post adoption depression afraid of myself of other people. 

So, you know, the usual.

I can say that it has been HARD.  Hard for all of the reasons listed above and also because my dear kids have experienced trauma and that's just difficult to wade through.  Heartbreaking really.  But redemption is always bloody, right?

All that said, I am blessed.  Beyond measure.  All 4 of my kids are hilarious.  And our life is bursting with so much life.  And life is always loud and messy and sticky and joyful.  I don't do anything half-assed.  So this integration of family has been approached with my whole ass.  And sometimes I fallen flat upon it. 

Never the less, if you wanted to buy me this shirt in a pink XXL, I'd love you forever...

So the looks of this blog are going to change.  I'm not quite sure how that is going to look just yet.  I've considered just disbanding it entirely, but I want to document some of our lives.  I'm thinking now it might just be pics and random conversations.  I can't do weighty blogs about transracial adoption or ethics  or attachment parenting or any of that other serious stuff that I spend a lot of time praying and chatting about because I just don't have the stomach to wade through that as well.  Plus, there are already people doing that well.  And I'd just be noise.  (If you don't read Kristen Howerton's blog Rage Against the Minivan, you should.  Like Jen Hatmaker, I like to pretend Kristen and I are besties because I follow her on facebook and we are in some transracial adoption groups together.  I'd love a complete new blog design, but that's not in the "let's get rid of the adoption debt and also have money to readopt the kids and get their citizenship" budget.  So we will just have to work with my playing with the layout button for a few minutes change.  Unless YOU want to make me a new pretty template.  :)

Thankful for the "Not Knowing"

As we’ve been treading water these past few weeks, a few things have risen to the surface.  Mainly, some questions and then (thankfully) some Scripture.   

The questions have been:

1.      If I knew at the beginning all that I know now, would I do it anyway? 

2.      Is this worth it?

3.      If I had to do it all over again, would I?

And the simple answers are: 

1.       Probably not. I would’ve been too afraid to obey. 

2.      Yes.  Heck yes.

3.      Over and over and over again. 

Psalm 119: 105 says “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.”  (Drink if you grew up in the 80s in a Christian home and totally just sung that in your brain a la Amy Grant.)

This tells me that God’s promise is to lead me.  Step by step.  That I will safely see the next step, but not the whole landscape.   

Folks, this is hard.  And on the one hand, I hate this.  I would have much preferred God to have shown up two years ago in a burning bush and said, “Okay, so here is what I’m going to do.  You’re going to go here and do this and then this will happen and then we will party. The end.”   

But on the other hand?  God knows me.  He knows that I’d hear “Okay so this is what I’m….” and then I’d go running off all willy-nilly forgetting that it was Him I was following.  If God had told me that he was going to bring three children into my heart that wouldn’t be my kids but I’d ache for them for forever but He was doing it for them and not for me, I’d have politely said “No thank you.”  If I’d know that the immigration steps would change and a two week process would become a six month process and that instead of a week in country we’d be staring down 3 plus weeks in country, I would’ve let His call go to voicemail.  So knowing my feeble heart and scattered brain, He graciously left me in the dark.  He said, “Sweet baby girl, you can’t handle to walk by sight.  Not yet, anyway.  So take my hand and walk by faith.  Okay?  All you can manage is to hold my pinkie?  Fine.  I get it.  This is scary terrain and you’re going to trip and bloody your knees.  But you’re not alone.  I’ve given you Sloan.  And I’m going to give you new friends and old friends to help you find My Hand again when you drop it.  And I'll be here beside you and I'm going before you.”    

But has this treacherous journey been worth it?  Oh my goodness, yes!  I have been blown away time and time again by God’s mercy, provision, grace, patience, tenderness, and sovereignty.  I’ve grown apart from some friends during this journey because adoption is just hard to understand.  I mean who runs headlong into a wall with their heart and pocketbook?  Fools, really.  But God has strengthened other relationships long dormant and even given Sloan and I new friends whose friendship is so dear it takes my breath away.  Because most certainly after Himself, God’s greatest gift to us is His people.  

And if I had to do it all over again, would I?  That’s the million dollar question.  Because if we hadn’t taken a detour in China we would’ve thought we only had a son and our timeline would’ve been different and Charlie and Mollie wouldn’t have been our Charlie and Mollie.  Sure, we would’ve made a few different choices, but I’m thankful for all the lessons learned.  As we did during our infertility, there have been rocky moments between Sloan and me.  Moments where we forgot we were on the same team.  Moments when our grief made us stabby and angry.  But we’ve learned to forgive with greater ease.  We’ve carried one another to the Cross time and time again.  We’ve come to that strangely lovely place where all we have to give one another is Jesus.  

So Lord, thanks.  Please continue to remind me that You’ve lit the path for my next step.  Help me not to run ahead of your leading.  Thanks for pushing me out of my comfort zone.  The folks You’ve got out here living on the fringe are amazing.  As are You.

The Lord is not Slow...

Wow.  It’s been almost two months since I last posted.  And these months have been insane.  Pretty sure we’ve experienced every human emotion, sometimes simultaneously.  Why?

Well remember in June how I told you that there was a teens tiny chance that we might not have to wait until the end of the summer for investigations to be completed?   That if they were completed sooner that maybe we’d get to travel this summer?  To be honest, I only half-heartedly prayed this would be the case.  But, 48 hours after our living relative interview at the embassy, we received an email that our investigation was complete!  We had visa appointments in July, which meant we would be traveling in July to pick up our children!  Wahoo!

We booked a hotel room.  We booked plane flights.  We furiously packed.  And packed.  And weighed bags and repacked.  We scurried around finding perfect money newer than 2006 with no creases, marks, or tears.  (Because few places accept credit cards and apparently, they only like perfect US money.)  We hosted missionaries to the Congo who helped us pack and prepare for life in Kinshasa.  We gathered groupons and gift cards for Henry and Grace to take with them to our friends who were keeping them.  

And then about 48 hours from the time we were supposed to leave we heard devastating news:  Charlie’s passport application had been lost by the passport issuing office and so, obviously, the kids had missed their visa appointment.  We were suddenly forced to decide to push back our tickets and pay change fees and the difference in fares or cancel them all together, pay fines and get partial refunds. We tried to push back our hotel reservations, but always knowing there was no real way to know when exactly his passport would be issued.  Or if the embassy would be able to reschedule our appointment in a timely manner.  We were one of the first appointments scheduled for our agency under the new immigration policies, so to some degree, all of us were swimming in unchartered waters.  And the water was deep, dark, and churning.  

To say we were sad and angry would be an understatement.  There was a sense of us reliving every miscarriage and the loss of Emma Sloan all over again.  Because you should just know that waiting adoptive Mommas are so very much like pregnant women in their emotional (in)stability. But not only are we wrecks,  we are loony while also under intense financial strain.  So much fun for everyone!  (Bonus points are that you can drink while waiting during adoption.  And you should.)  

Henry and Grace even buckled under the weight of our grief.  I oscillated between snapping at everyone and crying out of sadness and shame.  We tried to find someone to blame: each other, our agency, the system, the embassy, the Congo, God.  At one point, Sloan awoke to the sound of me crying and cussing while in the shower.  He asked, “Ummm…is there someone in there with you?”  I replied, “I’m yelling at God.  Sure, there are bureaucratic delays, but ultimately He is in charge.”  Sloan said, “Okay, well maybe lay off the f-bombs when praying.  You’re a grocery cart and a pint of booze away from being a hobo.”  

But in the end, we knew the truth:  there was no one culprit behind our delay—this was just life in a fallen world, bureaucracy was slow and orphans got the short end of the stick.  

But this was God’s plan for our family, and He would derive glory in our delay.  I delved into the Psalms.  Ever grateful for David’s words which were f-bomb free but still spoke my heart.  Psalm 22 was ever on the tip of my tongue:

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish? My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, but I find no rest…Do not be far from me, for trouble is near and there is no one to help… I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint.  My heart has turned to wax; it has melted within me. My mouth is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth; you lay me in the dust of death.

And in the midst of David’s distress, David ends the psalm in the future tense, knowing that one day God’s people will proclaim He has done it!  So while I was upset with God’s tarrying, I knew He would bring my kids home.  

But when?

After much delay, we FINALLY got Charlie’s passport.  So then it was time to re-appproach the embassy and ask for another appointment.  During this time, we continued to beg God for patience.  If there was a verse on patience in the Bible, I was clinging to it, thinking if I just prayed the right prayer, God would make me okay with these delays.  That if I just trusted Him enough I’d be all zen and peaceful and could return to business as usual, complaining about my first world problems like too much rain and forgetting my grocery bags as opposed to yearning for my children languishing in an orphanage.    That if I could just learn the lesson that God was trying to teach me, all would be well and we could proceed.

But then God gave me 2 Peter 3:9.  At first glance, I kinda dismissed it.  Perhaps God was not trying to teach me about myself.  (Wait?  You mean it isn’t about me?)  Perhaps it was not my own impatience God was trying to reveal, but rather, His own patience with me.  That I can and should continue to pray Come quickly, Lord Jesus!  Hasten the day when my faith becomes sight and there is no more death or mourning or tears or orphans!  However, I should also realize that He tarries not because He is forgetful or distracted or angry with me or stuck on Candy Crush level 208 (for the love, people!), but because He is patient and He is not done.  He is waiting so that more of us can experience forever in His fullness.  His love is so great, it empowers Him to wait for us.  

Y’all I can’t even comprehend that.  Love so big it is pleased to wait? 

So we wait.  Not because we are pleased to do so, but because we really have no other choice.  We have new visa appointments for next week.  We hope to travel mid-September.  About 2 months after we first thought.  But I do get to be here for Henry’s first day of Kindergarten

.

How can you be praying?

-For no more hiccups in our process.  For the embassy appointments to go well and for our visas to be issued quickly.

-For the next steps in country to happen quickly. 

-For our new travel plans to be able to happen:  I am planning on travelling solo and then Sloan will follow up about 12 days later and then we will all fly home together, thereby maximizing Sloan’s PTO stateside.

-For me to figure out how to divvy up our supplies.  Before I had everything split evenly between 5 bags.  Now I have to basically put every necessity in 3 or pay loads in extra baggage fees.  So that’s 100 lbs less!

-For Charlie and Mollie’s health.  Charlie has lost some weight and has begun to ask for us.  Our boy misses us and is ready to come home to us! 

-For us to continue to trust God to provide for us.  Each delay has had both emotional and financial cost.  The changing of the plane tickets cost $1600.  So basically the entire amount raised during our CFA fundraiser. 

CFA Giveaway

We have been so blessed to know and be known by the sweet Mercer family.  Their oldest girls have babysat our kids and their youngest two kids are playmates for Henry and Grace.  We think of them as family.    We even had the treasure of double dating with our eldest nephew Anderson and their daughter Makenzie.  And if you ever try to tell Grace her yellow clad Princess Barbie is Belle, she will quickly tell you that no, it’s her “Miss Kenzie bah-bee.”  They pray for our adoption process because they know first hand the stressors of international adoption, their youngest two being adopted from Guatemala just prior to the country’s adoption shutdown.

Why am I going on and on about how awesome they are?

Because they have gone and donated a YEAR’S WORTH OF CHICK-FIL-A  for us to give away. What?  You know those 52 #1 meal cards that people camp out for before a store opening?  Yeah.  Those.  It’s over a $300 value!!!

So how do you win these?  Here’s how:

DONATE to our adoption fund through our WEPAY account in the left hand sidebar.  (Right above the awesome fundraiser shirt that you totally need…or, you know, just click the embedded link.)

FOR $10 you get 2 entries.

FOR $25 you get 7 entries.                  

FOR $50 you get 15 entries.

 You can also share for 1 FREE ENTRY PER DAY until the raffle closes on Friday, June 21, 2013 at 5pm ET.  

So share on Facebook!  If you share on Twitter—tag Sloan to track it (@VaGamecock) and use the hashtag #phillipsadopt.  If you share on Instagram—tag me (@ejphillips) and also use the #phillipsadopt hashtag.  If you pin it to pinterest, same deal—mention me in the comments @ejphillips.  No more than one free entry a day (so that’s a possible 5 free entries), but you will still get major props from me if you blast it from all of your social media outlets or share on your blog 4 million times a day. 

The winner will receive 52 #1 meal cards.  They will be issued with our local CFA’s name on them (Brandermill/Hull Street), but are usable at any US Chick-Fil-A.  They will also come with a certificate of authenticity from Todd Mercer in the event the winner should run into any problems. 

In order to coordinate the donations and social media shares, we will be doing this raffle old school style: names written on pieces of paper and drawn from a box.  The winner will be drawn by Henry by 10 am on Saturday, June 22, 2013.  I will upload what I’m sure to be an adorable video of this event.

But wait?  Elizabeth, aren’t you scared that no one will donate and everyone will just share for their 5 free entries.  Yes.  I’m actually petrified of that.  Because we have travel expenses to raise.  And we are looking at AT LEAST $8000 in airfare.  Between $1500-$3000 in hotel expenses.  And then we also hope to have about $4,000 walking around cash for the three weeks we are in country for food, fabric, gifts, taxi fare, tips, etc.  And none of our in country expenses can be made on the credit card.  So folks, donate.  Get your friends to donate.  Share.  Share again.  

And then win some chicken. 

Repeat after me: God is not surpised, God is not surprised...

The above has been my mantra as of late.

Soooo...remember how I told you that we had some time before we travelled.  That I was content to wait until the fall without even a remote possibility of travel this summer.  No looking over my shoulder, constantly checking my email to see if the embassy was scheduling things for us.  A little breathing room to have date nights and do some last minute nesting and much needed fundraising...

Well, maybe not.  Or maybe so.  We just. don't. know.

The US now recognizes Charlie and Mollie as our next of kin.  So the next steps are an investigation to insure that they meet US definitions of orphans (this is to insure there has been no child trafficking and ethical practices in the adoption--a time consuming but necessary step).  After that, they get a visa.  Then we go pick them up.  Then we wait a bit for their home country's gov't to do some things and we come home after a 2-3 week stay in country.

The embassy has offered us an opportunity to do something at the end of June which could mean we would travel this summer.  Or not.  And we may not even be able to the thing which they want us to do no matter how hard we try.  (Sorry if this is cryptic, but it's complicated.  Just know that several people's schedules need to align for a meeting at which we aren't needed in order to conduct our orphan investigation.) So there are A LOT of variables.  Will we be able to find the party needed to go to the meeting for an interview about our children's past?  Will we be able to raise the funds needed in order to pay for that person to fly 1,000 miles to even get to the embassy?  If that person goes to the embassy, will the Embassy be able to finish our orphan investigation then and there or will they still need to travel to our kid's hometown in late August to finish the investigation?  When our agency asked what the likelihood of further delays after this meeting would be, they answered in broad generalizations--much like a doctor would when asked by a sick patient "Hey, am I going to live?"   

If they are satisfied at the interview, the next step is an embassy appointment.  Our attorney will take our kids to this for us and also to their embassy medical appointment.  If those things check out, then our kids would get their visas to come home to America.  And then we would travel about 10 days later.

So if you are confused, welcome to the club.  There are a lot of us waiting Congolese adoptive parents here.

This also means a couple other things, a shortened timeline to travel means I need to get packing.  I need to start stock piling new monetary bills.  (Because we have to pay for everything in country in cash.  Like everywhere.  For three weeks in a hotel.)  And all of the bills need to be new and crisp.  And we have to have paid our agency's bill completetly.  We have to pay to fly the necessary party to the meeting.  Oh, and our agency doesn't take credit cards.  So basically, we don't have the luxury of just putting the last minute details on the credit card, which is a blessing and a curse.

So pray for us.  Jesus knows our needs and has not brought us this far to leave us hanging.  We know that.

And you can buy a tshirt.  Or seven.

And don't forget to bookmark our search page with Amazon.  Just by buying off the link in our sidebar, we get between 4-7% of your purchase.  It's win-win.  I'll give a shout out to the best purchase.  So far, the item to beat is a Hen Apron. 

And in the next week or so I'll be putting together a super fun raffle for a year's worth of Chik-fil-A.  I'm just sort of hammering out the details now.

This has been a marathon.  And I am not a runner.  So I'll say I'm weary of the fundraising. But I'll limp across the finish line to get my babies.  Charlie has the biggest smile on the planet and I can't wait to be the cause of his smile.  And Mollie?  Well, let's just say in every picture she is wearing jewelry.  So I'm packing some nail polish to paint her piggy toes.  So if I seem like I'm whining about the cost, forgive me. This is nothing in comparison to the cost my Savior bore to adopt me.  Nor it is even a smidgen of the blessing that has been bestowed upon us. 

Charlie and Mollie, already you have taught me endurance.  You have enlarged my heart.  You have taught me of my Father's yearning for me in ways I never would have guessed.  Thank you.

Quick Adoption Update

The past few weeks have found me in a place I never thought I’d be—chatting with Senator’s aides, writing letters to Congress people, planning a trip to DC to march for a cause.  But this is the fate of a waiting adoptive parent.  You find yourself doing all you can to shorten the distance between you and your kids. 

Oh, and I’ve been on some conference calls.  Major props to working folks like my husband who have to endure large conference calls everyday.  Oh my word.  And large conference calls with waiting adoptive parents means that at least one person doesn’t have their phone on mute.  Most likely this person will be in a windtunnel located inside the Playland at a McDonald’s.  I can find no other reasonable explanation for the constant chatter and babble of small children in the background. 

So what did all of these efforts produce?  Some news that was both encouraging and discouraging at the same time.  We now know that there is no way we will travel this summer.  The US Embassy in DRC does investigations of all adoptions to insure each adoption is done ethically.  This is a good thing.  No, a great thing.  But because of the sequester and the rise in adoptions in the DRC, the embassy is understaffed and under-budgeted to handle the case load in a timely manner.  So we wait.  We knew that because our kids are not originally from the capitol of DRC, that our investigations would take longer.  The DRC is one third the size of the US.  It’s not like the investigators can just hop in a Humvee and trot off to where our kids are from.  It’s 1000 miles away.  But….we do now know that the investigators have scheduled a trip to our kids' hometown to do our investigation and the investigations of other kids from that area.  (Which is a huge praise and one of the things we were lobbying for!  Hurrah!)  However, the investigators won’t be heading out to our region until the end of the summer.  (Sad trombone)  Please pray that nothing thwarts these plans.  Any changes in politics or rebel uprisings could make this trip a no go.   So while three months isn’t THAT long in the US, it seems like an eternity in the tumultuous landscape of the Congo.  

(Why long investigations?  International adoption is frought with controversy and corruption because where there are big-hearted Westerners with money, there are folks willing to take advantage of that.   And while I have entered into the conversation about ethical adoptions in other arenas, community building in 3^rd world countries and the oh so important need for family preservation initiatives, I don’t want this post to go down that rabbit trail.  So if you want to enter that conversation, I suggest you go here, to Jen Hatmaker’s most recent blog post, to discuss that.  Please hear me when I say I am thankful for the extra lengths the Embassy is going to to insure ethical adoptions.  I just wish they had more resources with which to do them.  Hence the lobbying and the march.)

This means that we will most likely travel to pick up our kids in the fall.  Perhaps October?  And we will now need to be in country for 2-3 weeks rather than just 1 week as we had first thought.  Which makes finding childcare for Henry and Grace a bit stickier during the school year and also triples the cost of the trip.  The wait also adds to our expense as we pay for our kids’ living expenses.  And I don’t want to complain about those costs.  Because the transition house where Charlie and Mollie are is great.  But it isn’t a family.  It isn’t our family.  

Sometimes at night I hear Henry talking to Charlie.  Telling him how he misses him.  “Oh Charlie, I will teach you how to make the bed.  Yours will be the bottom bunk.  It’ll be easier to make than my top bunk.”  “Charlie, I’m really too old for this train table, but I told mom to keep it in our room for you.  I will build you tracks and you can play trains.  Did you know there is a Charlie train?  And a Henry train?  There’s even a Molly train.  Poor Grace, she doesn’t have her own train.”  

I hear this and I cry.

Most days, I’m able to go through the day without breaking down.  I trust that God’s timing is perfect and that He is with them in the Congo.  But other days?  Like Mother’s day?  Sweet Moses.  I was completely blindsided by grief.  It was like it was pissed I’d been ignoring it so long and just full on attacked me.  

So that was awesome. 

I’m trying to see the bright side of the delay.  We have the summer.  I don’t have to worry about getting an email or a letter from USCIS or my case worker saying “It’s time to go.”  I can just love on Henry and Grace.  Sloan and I can go on loads of date nights.  We can finish prepping the kids rooms and maybe unpack the last few boxes.  I can relax at the pool.  I can go to the gym and drop the kids off in childcare.  Who knows?  Maybe I’ll go crazy and finally paint the family room bathroom and dining room.  You know, since I’ve got a coupon for paint and all.

Please pray for us to have continued patience.  For us to trust in God to provide for all of our needs.  For the health and safety for Charlie and Mollie and all of the kids with them in Kinshasha.  For me to not obsess over other people’s adoption timelines.  For me to celebrate with my friends at their airport moments when they bring home their kids before we bring home ours, despite them starting their journeys after us.  For there to be no impediments in the rest of our process.  For us to figure out childcare.  For this Momma’s heart who longs to see and smell and hold and kiss her two youngest children. 

Remind me that Jesus sees my hurt and hurts alongside me.  Remind me that God understands a parent's ache for a child in harm's way.  Don't give me churchy platitudes.  Just give me Jesus.