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. 

i600 and waiting

Oh my goodness.  So much immigration paperwork.  For each child, there were 64 pages of documents.  Some had to be notarized.  All had to be scanned and apparently I'm an idiot about that.  First off, our old printer was a champ at scanning and the new printer not so much.  Or you have to stand there like an idiot and keep track of what page you are on and do it one.by.one.  So I broke down and went to Kinko's and paid the lovely people that I now know by name from all of our FedExing documents. 

Only to come home and discover that now that all my documents were scanned into one giant document that was too large to email.  Even though I specifically asked Shannon at Kinko's to scan it at a low resolution so that it would be less than 25 MB.  So I tried this Google share thing.  Then cursed myself for spending money on something that probably wouldn't work.  So then, I stood like an idiot, and scanned each document into separate PDFs and then sent my poor immigration helper 6 separate emails (not including the 2 original ones with the Google Share docs and also an email apologizing for all of my emails) with an accompanying 36 attachments.

This is where I'd like to thank the Wizard of Oz, Pixar, Dreamworks, and Disney Junior for parenting my children this past week.  It is incredible the amount of ignoring your "in home children" done just to adopt more children. 

So I sent my poor immigration helper about a dozen emails.  Each containing an apology for all of the emails.  I wanted to make sure all of my documents were correct before shipping them to her. 

Guess what?  She actually raved about my using the Google Share thing.  She only had to open one attachment and was done looking at my documents likety split because she didn't have to open 6 emails and 36 attachments.  (These are actual numbers, people.  Not exaggerations.  36 attachments.  18 per child.)

So of course, I then sent her ANOTHER email telling her to please ignore my other bajillion emails.  This made her type LOL.  So gold star for me. 

My documents looked great and now they are off!  Off to be matched with our translated court documents stating that Charlie and Mollie are all ours for forever and ever.  We will petition the US gov't to list them as our immediate relatives and then request visas for them.  This will take....

wait for it.....



anywhere between at least 4-9 months. 

Because the US State Department is grossly understaffed in Kinshasha and they must investigate every case for fraud and corruption, both of which are rampant in the DRC.  So it is necessary for them to make sure that we aren't participating in any child trafficking but so.freaking.long.

So. freaking. Long.

So maybe don't ask me when we will be traveling.  Because honestly, if they hadn't just changed the investigation procedure, I would've said maybe May or June.  But now I'm just praying to have my kids home by Thanksgiving.  {Actually, I'm praying to travel this summer.  Like all the time.  I may or may not have had to have a come to Jesus meeting with Jesus about this.  He sang me the "Be Patient" song and then gave me this whole Be still and know I am God, I am Father to the fatherless speech.  Classic Jesus.}

I try not to think about the time too much.  How every month they are over there kills me. How an armed militia marched into their hometown and took over the UN Compound this past weekend.  How it finally quieted down thanks to the Congolese guard and some UN Peacekeepers and a healthy downpour of rain.  (Cue Toto's Africa)  But not before 35 people were killed.  How Mollie will most likely turn 2 in an orphanage.  And how that means we will HAVE to buy her a seat on the airplane.  How I have swimsuits for them.  How when I close my eyes I see them and if I try hard enough I can see them running around my backyard in a sprinkler.  I try not to entertain those thoughts because then I just can't function.  So I just try to sell my shirts and find the ones lost in the mail and prep for our facebook auction and feed, bathe, and clothe my family. 

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Settled (lessons learned in 2012)

I’ve written this post a thousand times in my head.  So much that now it seems I really feel like I’ve already said it all even though I haven’t written a word.  But here’s the shorthand version of what I’ve learned in the past year or so.  The little tidbits God taught me about Himself, myself, adoption, and life in general.

Don’t Feed the Crazy.

I’ve said it before.  Crazy is like a gator on a golf course—feed it and it will hang around and eventually will bite you in the bum.  Ignore it and it’ll leave you alone and, perhaps, go away.  This advice holds true whether it’s your in-laws, some yahoo commenting on Facebook, or even that little voice in your head.  Just let other folks be crazy.  It’s not your job to make them sane or correct them.  Leave the room.  Block the feed.  Tell that voice to sell crazy somewhere else.  Life is short and you’ve got real stuff to deal with.

There’s Dr. Pepper in the Dr. Pepper Can

I have been known to lose my temper.  Because the kids don’t listen, because the seat was left up, because all I asked was for him to take out the recycling and it’s still on the back porch.  But guess what?  I’m angry because I have anger inside me.  I can’t be made angry.  It’s already there, bubbling under the surface.  And I have to own that and repent.  Then, and only then, am I able to quietly return to my daughter and ask her to try again to come when called, to remind Henry about bathroom etiquette, and calmly say, “Hey, I went ahead and took out the recycling but please try and get to it next time, thanks.”

And the same goes for other people.  It helps to ignore the crazy if you remember that it has nothing to do with you.  Or even the topic at hand.  Scripture describes it this way “Out of the overabundance of the heart, the mouth speaks.” (Matthew 12:34)  So when someone is angry with you, remember, it’s about them.  They’re just angry.  You don’t have to soothe them or fix it or convince them to calm down.  Generally, if you just listen and try to figure out exactly what it is that let the anger out, you can love them accordingly.  

And when dealing with a toddler’s anger, remember this sage parenting advice:  Don’t negotiate with terrorists. 

Less is less and that’s More

When we moved, we purged a lot.  A lot.  And after the move, we purged some more.  I seriously have no idea how we had so much stuff crammed into the old house when the new house is literally twice as big and still it was too much.  

And I’ve purged elsewhere.  I was just doing too much to be the kind of parent, wife, daughter, friend, and follower of Jesus I want to be.  Every time I say “no” I’m saying “yes” to that.  Though I feel as though I’m introverting a bit, it feels right.  It feels like home.  I have room to breathe.  My main ministry is to my growing family.  That is who I’m serving.  

I’m a Stay at home Mom, and that’s enough

Since I’m a missionary to my kids, I need to treat that with the same level of professionalism and respect that my working friends treat their jobs.  It has value and meaning, even if it only has benefits and no paycheck.  If I’m too busy doing other stuff, then I’m slacking on my job.  Yes, yes, I still facebook and Instagram like a madwoman, but that’s generally in the carpool line or while sitting in time out with one of my little terrorists.  

Patience doesn’t mean liking to wait and Impatience is a sign of mistrust

After the loss of the referrals of K & N, I felt at peace.  It was like I had been splashing about just trying to keep my head above water until then and then we just sunk.  We drowned into Jesus.  And we were fine.  More than fine.

So it has been easier to wait on our adoption journey.  Because of our agency’s unwillingness to participate in unethical practices in a country full of corruption, they won my trust.  I trust our case worker completely.  I know she will keep me in the loop.  I can rest knowing she is advocating for us and our family.  And I’m happy to report that not only is all of our paperwork is in the DRC and we have a court date at the end of January.  We are on track for hopefully traveling this summer to pick up our kids.  

But don’t confuse this with liking the wait.  I’m just trusting that it will happen when God deems it appropriate.  Because when Henry complains that I’m not bringing him a snack fast enough, all high pitched and whiny, it tells me he doesn’t believe it’s going to happen.  And in his case, I do sometimes forget.  But God does not forget me.  He is for me.  He is for my family.  Our names are written on his heart. 

I will say that I owe a lot of these lessons to our new house.  The flow of it just calms me. And the knowledge that we will never move again until it is time to pay someone to bathe us makes me happy. We’ve got a huge basement and a great yard, so to be clear, the kids are elsewhere a lot.  That makes my mothering a tad easier.  But they’re playing and jumping and running around like banchies til they fall asleep in their new Ikea beds.  We are beyond blessed.  Beyond.  Our cups runneth over.  More than enough for our two newest little loves. 

Take two Leapsters and call me in the morning

I spent most of the night up with Henry (yeah for finally getting the whole puke in the toilet scenario!).  Thankfully, he awoke feeling fine.  No more sore throat or hurt tummy.  He even whined when I told him that we couldn't go to the gym.  (I thought about it, because I love my two hours of me time--if it takes lifting weights and sweating on an elliptical to get it, so be it--but I would be ticked if someone else brought their kid to the gym 5 hours post-puke, so I declined.)  I could tell that Henry still wasn't 100% because his appetite was shotty and he wanted to spend all day in his robe.  And headband.

 

Because he takes getting well seriously.

I used the day as a bit of a loll day.  I may or may not still be in the Tshirt and jammies I put on yesterday.  We watched a lot of Olympics, played some Lego Star Wars on the Wii, and Leapsters and Leappads were out.  A lot.  

I used this "let media parent your kids while they are sick without guilt" day to get a lot of stuff done for the adoption.  And by a lot, I mean I talked to several case workers in various time zones. I joined Yahoo Groups.  I scanned docs, prepped letters for FedEx, and sent emails.  I would say the next big turn in our adoption journey would be sending off our dossier to the Congo.  And y'all, I'm about to turn on my blinker.  I expect to be able to get the rest of our documents authenticated by the end of the week.  Which means I'll be scanning and emailing and fedexing stuff next week.  You know, for translation.  

I am SO ready to just be waiting.  During Grace's adoption, I thought the paperwork was easy and the waiting was hard.  But it taught me that God is really driving this thing and He is more than trustworthy.  I am SO ready to have it in His hands.  To stop the juggling of redwells and secretaries of states.  I am ready to know there is nothing left to do but trust.  No more papers or notaries or scans.  Just trust.  

But the blinker is on.  The blinker IS ON.

It is well (It is well)

So much has transpired in the past week I’m not even sure what to write.  Perhaps now is the time to explain why I write.  

I have been criticized as of late for not talking about what I’m feeling but blogging about it.  That it has annoyed some friends and loved ones to read about my life on the computer rather than to hear from me on the phone.  

In the immortal words of DJ Kool, let me clear my throat.  

A.  I detest talking on the phone.  For reals.

B.  The written word is how I figure out what I’m feeling.  It just is.  If you want me to talk to you, you will get a hodge podge of verbage that really doesn’t tell you anything other than I may be crazy.  You would think that my knowledge of my inability to say the correct thing would prohibit me from talking a lot.  

You would be wrong.  

So I say a lot of stupid stuff.  I’m a dreadful person with whom to argue.  I think fast and don’t fight fair.  You know how you think of zingers ten minutes after the fact?  I think of them on the spot and because I’m pretty observant as well, my zingers can sting.  I’m a real peach to be married to. 

Let’s say you sent an email saying “Hey, I don’t think we will be able to come over tomorrow for a playdate.”  I would probably reply, “OK. Cool. No worries.  Check you on the flip side.”  If you were to call me, there is a high probability that I’d say, “Well, fine.  I really didn’t want to have to deal with your bratty kid anyway and your face is ugly.”  (OK, that was me using hyperbole.  I probably wouldn’t call your kid bratty.)  

There has really only been one time in my life that someone has angered me so much as to render me speechless.  And that was a very.good.thing because I probably would’ve said things that would have irrevocably broken that relationship.  

C.  Ernest Hemingway said, “The writer must write what he has to say.  Not speak it.”  By writing out my grief, my frustration, my passion, it gives it a sense of weight.  And then I can just move on.  Really.  Once I’ve written about something, I’m sort of done with it and don’t even want to talk about it too much.  

I really don’t like to talk about my flair.

And as of late, my flair has been particularly heavy.  

Friday was hard.  I saw J’s face every time I shut my eyes.  As I was on the elliptical, I cranked up the resistance and ramp to as high as they would go.  It was almost as if I was trying to feel the difficulty J feels when moving his legs (J has mild cerebral palsy).  I spent close to 10 hours on the elliptical last week.  I lost 4 pounds because that is what happens when you live off protein shakes, cheese sticks, and do the elliptical for an hour and a half each day.  

I kept replaying the past six months in my mind, trying to figure out just where Sloan and I zigged when God zagged.  

Sloan kept telling me it was all part of the same journey.  That we hadn’t made a mistake.  And it was like I couldn’t hear him.  We argued.  We shifted blame.  We pointed fingers.  We cried.  We let the kids watch a lot of TV.

I was in a fog.  I went to the grocery store and forgot half of my list but did return home with a semi-automatic Super Soaker and a Slip and Slide.  We ate cold cuts or take out all week.  Because you can’t eat a Slip and Slide.  

It wasn’t so much the grief that overwhelmed me.  Having lost a placement before, I knew that the grief would be like the tides, rising and falling.  You know, as the hymn says, when sorrows like sea billows roll.  This side of heaven, I’ll never be okay with this.  There will always be a piece of my heart in China.  I will always long for J.  Just as I long for Emma.  

What was and is completely foreign to me was this doubt.  This mistrust of myself and of God.  Was I not praying the right prayers?  Did God try to tell me to go to the Congo but all I heard was Chinese baby?  Did I not listen to my husband?  Did I rush things too much?  How much was this going to cost my family?  Was everyone sitting around laughing at me because we obviously didn't know God's will from a hole in the ground?

But then my friend reminded me that I was misjudging God’s character.  Jesus is not a god who looks back.  So I’ve been repenting.  A lot.  For thinking that God judged me as a puppy who messed on the floor and his plans were to rub my nose in it.  He loves me so dearly that even my thinking that of him grieves Him.  As we prayed over this new direction, I kept thinking, “What if we are wrong again?  What if I think I’m following Jesus but really I am chasing my own tail?”  

I've never really been afraid before.  I do not like it.  I would prefer to not feel this emotion ever again.  If you can figure out a way to make that happen, let me know.  

But God is far more apt to redeem my mistakes than I am to make wise decisions.  So there is freedom to step out in faith and trust that even if I misstep, Jesus will not let me fall.  He will still hold me and guide me.  Even though it is common to say “I’ve found Jesus!  So and so led me to Jesus!”  Let me state this unequivocally:  Jesus is not the one lost.  He is not hiding out in the best hiding spot, giggling, as he imagines us all with our compasses and Camelbak water bottles, fumbling around, calling out his name only to hear echos in the canyon.  

False.  

Yes; we are fumbling around in the desert.  But He is stalking us.  There’s and old poem by Francis Thompson that describes God as the “hound of heaven” and I think that is about right.  

So I am granting myself some grace.  Moreover, I am repenting of my believing that loving J was a mistake.  I can guarantee that I would not have an ache in my heart for special needs kids like I do had it not been for a particular boy with a pointy nose and chapped cheeks.  Jesus used him to change me.   This hurt, this loss, has not been without my heart becoming more aligned with His.  So I will rejoice in this loss.  

I will sing that yes, it IS well with my soul.  We sang it in church on Sunday and my body shook in joyful tears, snuggling my Gracie as I sung, 

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.