8 years and change…

A lot to update you on.  I hope to post more details about most of these things in the future, but for now, I’ll simply say:  we are in the process of accepting a referral of a sibling group, Henry is super sick, we are ending our adoption fundraising efforts, we are putting our house on the market and moving.

I promise I’ll say more about all of these in later posts.  But the short story is that the referral we are accepting is EXACTLY perfect for our family and yet different than we first envisioned.  I mean, we started this journey thinking we were bringing home a Chinese toddler with mild cerebral palsy.  Now we are adopting 2 children from the Congo, a boy who just turned 5 and a girl who is 18 months old.  This has made us realize that it would serve our kids best to move now and not a couple years from now.  We need to provide as much stability as possible for our Congolese son as this has been a pretty rough year for him thus far.  And because we want to make sure that people know their donations are going towards the adoption and not to our “buy a bigger house fund”, we are stopping the fundraising efforts. 

Do I still have supplies to make frames and some wreaths to sell?  Yes, and you can buy them and know that it will all go to the adoption.  Will I solicit donations of toys and formula and mosquito nets before we travel to donate to the orphanage?  Yes, but that is more for the kids than us. 

Part of the reason we have done fundraising is because we wanted to invite others to love orphans alongside us.  And I still want to send out that invitation.  Adoption and orphan care is such a clear picture of the Gospel that I truly believe you can’t really “get” how much you are loved by God until you take a peek inside the world of orphan care.  It is a peek inside the very heart of Jesus.  I will always cry from the rooftops “Do you want to see Jesus at work?  Here.  Pray for this orphan.  Make a meal for this foster family.  Send this kid a mosquito net.”  I can guarantee that both your life and the life of a child will be forever improved with these simple actions.

It is also true that we still have 4 plane tickets to buy and other traveling costs, all of which will total over 10k.  And that’s a conservative estimate.  If folks want to consider donating airline miles, I will make that information available when I have a clearer picture of what our actual travel needs will be.

That said, I don’t want to post pics of our new house or write about how I’m pretty sure I’m high right now from all the noxious fumes in our current home and receive harsh judgment.   (We resealed the driveway yesterday and had the mustard yellow shower in our master bath refinished this morning.  It’s like a giant bottle of nail polish made out with a gallon of tar.  It’s awesome.  Thank God for our whole house fan.  Too bad it is 90 degrees outside.)

 I don’t want to have people go all “Why were they asking for donations to adopt when they clearly have enough money to mulch their natural areas?”  (Because in my mind, that’s what rich people do.  Mulch over their natural areas.  And by natural, I mean the places they haven’t been able to grow grass.)  (Also, I can answer that question--bank loans.)

So it’s a whirlwind here: packing up, meeting with handymen, gathering adoption documents, trips to Lowe’s, middle of the night sick sessions, and talking to realtors and oh yeah, IT IS MY 8^TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY TODAY!

We are celebrating by cancelling our babysitter and our reservations and packing up the living room so we can paint it.  And spraying the aforementioned natural areas with Round Up.  And letting the kids watch hours of movies because Henry is so sick that this morning he puked on me.  As I was cuddling him in the doctor’s office after his strep test.  Oh, and did I mention that the vomit was bloody?  And all down my back?  And then he stood up and puked on my feet?  

But the honest to God truth is, I wouldn’t have it any other way.  (Well, I’m sad Henry feels so yucky.  But thankful to be his Mommy.)  

It is easy to have romance over Fried Green Tomatoes with a Pimento Cheese and Peppadew Aioli or tableside Bananas Foster.  But a marriage isn’t about how well you love one another at candlelit dinners on your honeymoon.  It’s about being forgiven for the thousand times you snap at your spouse because you are certain he is snoring just to spite you.  (He is.  He confessed.)  It’s about the fact every time my dear husband leaves to go out of town early in the morning, he kisses me goodbye, affixes a love note to my alarm clock and makes sure there are plenty of Diet Dr. Peppers in the fridge.  It’s about learning when to feed and when to starve your spouse’s brand of crazy.  When to encourage dreams and when to rein them in.  When to just forgive the lost temper  without having to talk about it and when to step back and rehash each and every word so that real reconciliation can occur.  You never count your money while you’re sitting at the table.  Wait, no, that’s not marital advice.  That’s the gambler.

Well, my darling Sloan, eight years and counting, I’m still all in.  You are my ace I plan to keep.

Our Great Cloud

So I spent today scanning and emailing our dossier documents.  Several times, because apparently, I’m not so good at scanning.  Awesome.  And let us never speak of the number of times we had to go to the notary because I can’t seem to bring all the papers at one time.  My kids are thankful for all of the extra lollipops the bank gave them.

While scanning, I re-read our homestudy.  (Perhaps this is why I had to scan it three times.  Note to self: you are incapable of multitasking.  So stop trying.)  And then it struck me.  God really has been preparing us in advance for this good work He’s planning to do in our family. Sure, Scripture tells us that He does that.  But it was neat to take a pause and reflect upon it.  

There is this whole section in the homestudy about how we will handle any adversities that may arise medically or socially and how we plan to instruct our kids on the culture of the Congo. 

And folks, it’s pretty incredible.  

So I’d like to thank God and let the following people know that we see God at work in them in our lives so much that they even got ink in our homestudy:  Kim Eagle, Ali Shenk (so I need to thank Mollie Burpo for introducing us), Carrington Castle, Lisa Cox Nelson, Becky Hartman (again, Kim Forquer shout out for the FB introduction), Jennifer Farkas, Dr. Greg Childress, Dr. Beth Marshall, Dr. Gray Snowden, Cindy and Andy Schwarz, and Sarah and Max Doerfler.

You are our tangible great cloud of witnesses.  Thank you ever so much for your part in touching our hearts, educating us, and praying our family home.

My Wandering Angel

My darling Grace

Most days we spend a lot of time at the bottom step.  We talk about what hands are for and blow kisses and clap and high five and hug.  We practice whispering and using our inside voices.  We stand for minutes on end with our noses to the wall.  We pray.  We ask for forgiveness.  We say we are sorry.  These moments, while they are how we spend a lot of our days as of late, are my least favorite parts of the day.  Well, least favorite AFTER the incidents that mandate our presence on the bottom step.

My favorite part of the day with you is bedtime.  Not because you will soon be asleep, but because of our dear ritual.  We lube you up with Coconut Oil.  We gather your hair or braids and put on your pretty pink silk scarf.  We read a Bible story and then you and Henry each get to select a story.  Then Henry goes to his room and, here is my most favoritest part, you and I snuggle up with your lovey and Pinkie and rock in the yellow rocking chair and sing.

Generally, we sing three songs.  You always ask for ABCs.  And once we are done singing the ABC song, you ask we sing it again.  We do not.  You also love Twinkle Twinkle, Jesus Loves Me, My Bonnie, Amazing Grace, My God is So Big, and your all time favorite finale song—La La Lu (from Disney’s Lady and the Tramp).  You love La La Lu.  You are so precious as you belt out the words.  Your nose crinkles, you rub my face, as you snuggle into my chest.  You even tap my nose when you sing, “Here comes a pink cloud for you.”  

And then I tuck you in, with your head on your satin pillow case, and gather up Pinkie, your multiple loveys, and all of your stuffies—Eyore, Piglet, a sea lion, a lamb, a mermaid, an owl, a purple sock monkey, the stuffed Build a Bear dog your brother made you while we were waiting for you, and your two blankies.  Without even looking, you know if one is missing.  

That’s how I feel about you.  Even with my eyes shut, I see you.  Do you drive me bonkers?  Yes.  Because you are so. much. like. me.  You love and approach life with everything you have.  You never walk, but dance everywhere.  You shower me with kisses and snuggles and zerberts.  You have always been, and will always be, no matter how many more kids God brings into our family, my little star sweeper and wandering angel.  

Fold up your wings, close your eyes.

La la lu, la la lu, and may love be your keeper.

Snacks for Jesus

Thursday night I was jealous of Sloan.  He got to take his buddy E to the airport at Dulles.

Normally, you'd think driving a guy two hours to the airport and back again on a random Thursday night isn't enviable.  But Sloan was driving E to pick up his wife and two kids.  Whom he hasn't seen in close to a year since he immigrated from Egypt.  His wife and kids were finally able to come over safely.

Can you imagine what that was like?  To get to stand on the sidelines and watch God bring a family together after so much longing.  I get teary eyed just thinking about it.

I decided to pack some snacks.  After all, this mom has been traveling with two toddlers by herself!  (Can you imagine?  I'm sure her excitement over seeing her husband counteracted the sheer exhaustion that comes from traveling internationally with a 1 year old and a 3 year old.)  I planned on getting each of the kids some goldfish, a squeezy applesauce, and some milk.  But while I was at the store I also saw a cute doggy toy, and some matchbox cars, and some Colorwonder books, and...and....and...

Yeah, I may have gone overboard.  But I figured that my kids require 47 different snack options and a backpack full of toys just to cross the James river, so maybe Egyptian kids are the same?

Perhaps it was too much.  But I wanted these folks to see how they are loved.  By strangers.  By Jesus.  By God's people who were blessed enough to be given the opportunity to just show up and see Him do His thing.

I just couldn't help myself.  I get this from my mother.*    I got gender nuetral toys, board books, books and toys from drive-thru meals, chips, hummus, carrot sticks, strawberries, apples, grapes, baby food, fruit snacks, Nutrigrain bars, Peanut Butter crackers, Captain's wafers, Pretzel sticks, goldfish, animal crackers, pita chips, and babybel cheese.  We are blessed beyond measure.  Our cups runneth over.  So how could we not give them our extra umbrella stroller and buy a bunch of fruit and carbs and toys for these brothers and sisters of ours? 

Sloan said that the family reunion was a thing to behold.  E stood up everytime the doors from customs opened up no matter that Sloan told him the signs said their flight wasn't through baggage yet.  And when the doors opened up and E's family came through, he was off like a shot running into his bride's arms.  I'd post the pics Sloan took, but they aren't my family pics to share with you.

Sloan did tell me that the mom was beyond done having traveled with a 3 year old and a 1 year old.  While riding back to Richmond, the youngest child was fussing.  She and her husband were chatting away in Arabic when all of a sudden Sloan heard from the back seat, "Baby.  Shut. Up.  Baby, stop your crying."  Priceless.  I speak this Momma's language.  Perhaps I should've packed her a bottle of wine.


*If you were to come to our house at Thanksgiving, you would see that my Mom has prepped the favorite meal of each of her grandkids.  She has 16 grandkids.  We have potatoes mashed, roasted, baked white sweet potatoes, and sweet potato casserole, all because various kids at some time or another have professed a love for some type of tuber.  It is both hilarious and precious at the same time.

Perhaps he's with Carmen Sandiego...

We had a conference call today with our agency.  Chin@ is saying no.  Definitively.  Were our agency to make more of a ruckus on our behalf would be to put in jeopardy the adoptions of many other people.  

Oddly, we both were at peace when we learned of the decision.  I think Sloan and I were both surprised at that.  Not that we haven’t and aren’t grieving, just that we have been here before, the giving of our hearts to a child that was not to be ours and that has turned out perfectly. 

Whenever I’ve spoken to folks going through the domestic adoption process, people always ask me if I regret getting blankets monogrammed and going whole hog for Emma Sloan.  I suspect the same could be said of our hearts getting set on little J.  But “all in” is the only way I know how to love.  I’ve said it before, when the roof caves in, it doesn’t matter if your hopes have built a rancher or a high rise, you are still standing in rubble.  So build a freakin' high rise.  

Pain hurts.  Sad things are sad.  And my brother and King Jesus has taught me that loves always bears pain for the sake of a greater glory.  I suspect that once we finally hold and kiss our son we will remember this pain as the agony of labor and shout from the rooftops about the goodness and faithfulness of God.

For God is at work.  

This afternoon, I took the picture of J off of our mantle and sat the kids down in our family room.  I said, “Henry and Grace, I need to tell you something sad.  This little boy is not our Charlie.  He is not your little brother.”  

Henry eyes got glassy and he trembled as he asked, “Who is he?”  I told him his name and said that our Charlie did not live in China.  Through tears Henry replied, “Well where is Charlie?”

I said, “Henry, I do not know.”

And my darling son said, “Well we need to ask Jesus to find him.  He could be anywhere!”

“Yes,” I said, the words sinking in.  “He. Could. Be. Anywhere.”

At present, we are sitting still and trusting that God will show us where in the world our son is.  We are investigating every avenue available to us.  Perhaps he is in Asia, perhaps Africa, perhaps he is in the foster system here in the States.  We don’t know.  So in some respects, this grief also brings with it some excitement.

If you had asked me on Monday if I would be this together when I heard the news, I would’ve laughed at you.  I cried so much on Monday that I had to use Afrin just to breathe.  But God in his wisdom sent Sloan on a business trip so that both of us only had Him to process the news with. 

He has been and will continue to be faithful to us.  

For those of you who have donated to our adoption fund, we fully understand if you want your money back.  I will say that most of the monies we have paid will be transferable to whatever program we do pursue.  Our homestudy is complete and will be reworked for another program.  Once we determine what direction we see God leading us, we will get our case worker to change things up as it was written with the Chin@ program in mind.  I can tell you that our family is NOT complete.  There is at least one more Phillips somewhere out there.  

And we. will. find. him.

Please also join us in continuing to pray for J.  He is such a great little guy.  His diagnosis is so much scarier on paper than we suspect it actually is.  He will always hold a unique place in our hearts.  While he is not our son, we pray that he will find his forever family soon.  

Thank you for your emails, calls, texts, and messages.  I especially appreciate the few friends who’ve said, “Hey, if you need to just call someone and scream obscenities, call me.  And if you need booze, I’m there for you too.”  You ladies speak my love language. And for those of you who've cried alongside me and over the phone, thank you. 

Thanks for your continued prayers

I cannot express to you how much y'all's emails, texts, and FB messages have meant to me.  To know that our boy is being prayed for around the clock.   This is good because the picture we have of him from over the weekend is just so sad to see.  His head has been shaved (typical in an orphanage to prevent lice), his clothes are filthy and falling off his body, and because they don't use diapers, his pants are split so the orphans can just relieve themselves whenever they need to unfettered.  He is still my precious boy, I just desperately want to cuddle him and let him know I have diapers and Oreos in my purse. 

I cannot post any pictures of Charlie.  But I can post a picture my buddy Laura posted on my FB wall.  J'adore.

Semi-Open, Part Three.

Before I finish this section of the story (really, this story is ongoing, so it is simply at the end of one chapter), I think I oughtta give you some context.  When I wrote Wednesday’s piece, I edited out the section that reminded you of what I said in part one:  we typically send out birthmother updates around Gracie’s birthday.  Maybe I’m just assuming y’all all remember her birthday is October 22^nd?  

Anywhoozie, to put this on a timeline, we sent the 2 year update to GBM at the end of October and received our first letter from GBM on November 11^th.  Which, ya know, was about 5 days after we realized we were going to adopt again.  

Wha?

Yeah.  That is why we were really confused.  Perhaps we thought we were supposed to adopt from China, but maybe God was just opening up our hearts to be ready for something else, something a little closer to home?  You may remember some cryptic posts from that era, like this one or this one.    

We heard nothing back from GBM.  We set up a special email account for her so that she could communicate with us without going through Bethany if she felt like it.  We tried the numbers she gave us but were never able to connect.   

So we waited.   

While we waited, we began our paperwork for the Chinese adoption.  We mentally gave GBM the deadline of Christmas to make a move.  Because we couldn’t just hover in limbo when we weren’t even certain if any of the information in her letter could be trusted.  We did, however, learn that GTHS was in the custody of the grandmother and not GBM, like she had stated in the letter.  With that knowledge, I was able to breathe in and out again, knowing that GTHS did have an advocate and someone to love her.  I could take down my “Tween Room in the Attic” board on Pinterest.

Christmas came and went.  We continued to pray for the twins.  That they had been placed in a loving family.  That they knew we existed.  That the twins were out of the hospital and healthy.  That if they had no one to advocate for them some case workers would try their hardest to find us and that the Bethany case workers would give them our information.  We learned that at some point in the summer a cryptic phone call had been received that could have possibly been about the twins, but no follow up phone information was left and the case worker at Bethany, wanting to protect our privacy, did not volunteer our information.  Therefore, we told all the case workers at Bethany that they could give out our information to anyone working for the Department of Social Services.  

And then we sort of went about life.  We’ve been fundraising and stressing about finances and getting the boys’ room ready and longing for Charlie.  

Then, about two weeks ago, my orphan care group at church hosted the head of Henrico County’s social services to talk about foster and respite care in the Richmond area.  After his talk, I spoke with him briefly about our situation.  I asked him if we had any rights and if the case workers would be bothered if we called.  He laughed.  He said that while we didn’t have the same rights as a biological family member would, social services ALWAYS wants to keep biological siblings together.  He also told us that twins, much less twins born premature, and even greater still twins born premature born addicted to drugs that were ethnic minorites would be VERY hard to place.   And then he said, “Trust me.  We long for people to call us and say they want to advocate for these kids.  It rarely happens. Of all the stuff we see, being called by someone wanting to love a kid is NOT a bother.”

Hmmm….

But where to even begin?  The town where GBM lives is a suburb of a larger city that is comprised of 5 counties.  And each county has its own DSS.  So I just started googling.  I randomly picked a county and called the first number that mentioned foster care I could find.  

A woman answered and I said, “Hi!  My name is Elizabeth Phillips and I live in Richmond.  So this is strange.  My adoptive daughter was born in Charlottesville and her birthmom lives in your area.  We have reason to believe that last Spring she gave birth to twins prematurely and that they were taken into foster care.  Do these kids have someone to love them?  Are they still alive?  Have they been shuffled back and forth between GBM and some foster family?  I mean, we are right now pursuing a special needs adoption from China, but those kids are our daughter’s half-siblings and if they don’t already have a family, we want them.”

I said all of that before I took a breath.  Or let the other person talk.  

Well, wouldn’t you know that the woman listening to me ramble on was the case worker of the twins.  Her first words to me were, “Are you serious?!  I am so glad you called!  We’ve been wondering about your little girl and where she was.  I am the twins’ case worker and I can tell you all about them.  They’ve been with an amazing foster family since they left the hospital and that family will begin the finalization of their adoption this Spring.  I know they won’t mind me telling you all this because they are so amazing.”

And y’all, the case worker undersold the twins’ family.  They. Are. Rockstars.  The twins will be the youngest kiddos in a large family comprised of biological kids, as well as kids adopted both internationally and domestically.  The case worker told me what the family had named the twins and I thought to myself “OK, these peeps are believers.  You don’t name your kid that if you aren’t a Christian.”

I gave the case worker all of my information to give to their family.  The twins’ family has ZERO background information on GBM or photos so I have begun to compile a little file for them. The adoptive mom of the twins and I have been able to connect via Facebook.  I was right, she loves Jesus and adoption and laughing and, according to the info section on her blog, she also has a penchant for putting her foot in her mouth.  Oh, and did I fail to mention that she and her husband know the pastor of my church because…..wait for it…He was their youth pastor?!?

I cannot tell you how ecstatic I am to know that we now have a safe connection to folks who share Gracie's DNA.  There was a tiny part of me that was miffed that we weren’t able to be found to parent those twins.  I was frustrated with the case worker that didn’t bend the rules to give out my info.  But what is true is that God is sovereign and I am not the right mommy for the twins.  So I need to repent of any bitterness that I may feel about that.  If God had meant for us to parent them, we would’ve.  He intends for us to be family to them, just not immediate family.  I may or may not have already picked out what I will be sending them for their first birthday.  Auntie EJ has a great ring to it.

This whole process has also convicted me of believing that it was all up to me, that if I did nothing, no one would.  I guess I thought that Sloan and I were the only ones out there loving orphans.  That we were the only folks willing to accept hard placements.  That God was putting all of his “Love the Orphans” eggs in my basket.  

Ahem.  (Also, have you met me?  No one at any time for any reason should give me a basket of eggs of any kind.  I can only keep up with my children because they make noise.)

Folks, God doesn’t need me.  It is his love for me that draws me into His heart and mission.  And he’s not about to let my sin or bureaucracy or a dingy orphanage get in the way of Him being close to the broken hearted, of being a Father to the fatherless.  

Just as He fought for Henry when we almost died in the hospital, just as He fought for Gracie as she struggled to come off the drugs, just as He fought for the twins to have a loving family where they would be treasured, He fights for Charlie.  Charlie is not alone in that Chinese orphanage.  He has Jesus beside him.  To whisper to him that he will not leave him as an orphan.

Sweet, and tender Jesus, hold our Charlie tight.  Tell him we are coming.  Place us in his dreams so that we are not strangers.  His bed is ready.  And so are we.

Thanksgiving at the Asylum

Ahhh…Thanksgiving. 

I am at my parents’ house in NC for close to a week.  With my sister and her brood.  So, for those of you doing the math, that is 6 adults and 12 children.  The ages are as follows: Matthew and Gracie (2), Henry (4), Isabel (5), Jonathan (8), Joshua (10), Rebekah (12), Rachel (14), Caleb (16), and Anderson (18).  I’m sure that my 18 and 16 year old nephews would argue that they are adults.  False.  And then on Thursday, we’ll also have my brother’s crew over here which will add Natalie (7), Caroline (10), Sarah Grace (13), and William (15).  

So we are outnumbered 2 to 1.  Even more so when you add to the fact that I tend to feel about 12 years old when I’m at my folks’ house.  

But either way, it’s crazy up in here.  There are tents and sleeping bags in the playroom.  I think my niece just broke her toe leaping off the elliptical machine.  You know, the one she was forbidden to play on.  Ice cream was served at 9pm.  To the kids who are accustomed to going to bed at 7:30.  

So for day 21, I am thankful for wine.  Lots and lots of wine.

You’ll also understand why the blog posts may be scant this week.  It tends to ruffle feathers when I take time away to write.  Or read.  Or work out.  Or go to the bathroom.  Also, my husband requested to be mentioned in this post.  By name.  His name is Sloan.  And here I am, mentioning him.