Reflecting on 2013 . . .

I can't believe the difference a year makes.

On January 1, I am normally planning to keep things more organized or eat healthier or exercise more. That's why I was a little put out last year when my former Bible study leader texted me with a New Year's message that essentially read, "Wishing you blessed suffering in the coming year."  Suffering wasn't on the horizon. We were excited to put a 'completed' stamp on this adoption thing in the coming weeks.  Days earlier, we had received notice our adoption was complete in the DRC.  We were officially JP's parents.  2013 would be a year of homecoming and bonding and restoration.  Suffering would have to wait.

But, anyone who has followed our story knows that, within a few weeks of receiving that text, we were thrust into a year out of control, full of uncertainty and loss. I don't know if my friend was prophetic; what I do know is that she was preaching the Gospel to my soul right before I needed it.  In fact, she has spoken that Truth to my heart for the past several years, neither of us knowing how much I would need it.

And, I am thankful for her.  I am thankful for her courage and willingness to speak that Truth.  I am thankful that she did not tickle my ears with words I wanted to hear, but that she knew the Lord deeply enough to know that a life in Christ involves suffering.

The beautiful thing is that Christ's suffering is different than the world's suffering: it is always accompanied by hope.  In fact, it produces hope (Romans 5:4).  According to Hebrews, Christ's suffering was not a flaw; it was actually that which makes our salvation perfect. And our suffering is a privilege (Philippians 1:29) to make us likewise perfect, not lacking in anything (James 1:2-9).  I especially love how 2 Corinthians describes the goal of our "momentary" afflictions:  to teach us to fix our eyes on what is unseen, to look toward the future, eternal glory that awaits us.

And, I can tell you that is exactly what happened through the worry of this year. January and February brought panic and anxiety as we saw the first glimmer of the troubles to come, and I faced the fearful task of traveling to DRC without Philip. I cried out to God to prove His faithfulness.  June and July brought an adventure I could not have imagined a few months earlier--packing up in a matter of hours and heading to DRC completely alone.  Amidst shaking hands and whirling thoughts, I prayed for courage I could not muster alone.  And, the most recent season has forced us into an acceptance of a loss that may not be restored this side of heaven.

I can tell that my reaction to songs reflects the state of my soul.  In August, I heard a song by Shane & Shane.  I did not like it at the time.  Honestly, it is a song of acceptance, and I was not ready for it.  You can listen to it here. My heart rebelled against the lyrics, "Though You slay me, Yet I will praise You. Though You take from me, I will bless Your name. Though You ruin me, still I will worship. Sing a song to the One who's all I need."  I didn't believe it; I needed more. But, one day months later, the Lord brought the song back to my mind.  I went to YouTube, and I played it.  My heart still stirred against it, but I also felt a need to listen, to make room in my heart for the opportunity to praise.  Just a few weeks ago, I was at my computer, listening to that same song.  New tears streamed down my cheeks.  My once rebellious spirit was filled with overwhelming comfort and peace.  Not only had He had sustained me through the difficulties of the year, He had revealed Himself to me and changed me in the process.

2013 was a year of suffering. Our family has suffered.  Through this experience, I have met so many women who have suffered the loss of their children, both literally and figuratively. We have cried and prayed with close, young friends who lost the illusion of control and security to disease.  We have watched the DRC close adoptions for an uncertain period of time, leaving so many families like ours to long and worry for their children for the next year.

2013 was also a year of immeasurable growth.  It was a year of incomprehensible dependence.  It was the year I thought I knew God, and then I got to know Him.  It was the year I learned that true praise does not come cheaply.  That the Lord can make us cry tears of grief, only to sustain us for tears of joy.  It was the year that I saw Him turn mourning to dancing, not because our circumstances had changed but because He invited us deeper into the fog so we could see Him more.

Some may expect that we want to put 2013 behind us.  But, I want to do the opposite.  I want to place this year before us.  I want to place a stone of remembrance around 2013, to remind us of God's goodness to us.  I want to remember God's sovereignty this year, to know that He does not leave us alone but walks through our trials with us.  I don't want to be lulled back to a desire for a slimmer figure or more organized home; I want to gaze at a God who knew and knows suffering.

It is likely that someone reading this will have a rough year.  I have the same message for you, "Wishing you blessed suffering."  If you are like me, you will bristle at the thought.  And, I get that.  I will probably bristle again when our next season comes.  But, I hope I will go back to this year.  I hope I will remember that God is faithful.  I hope I will remember that He will sustain.  I hope, on those days I don't want to get out of bed, I will remember that He will get me through this day and the next day, and though the journey of grief is long and exhausting, it is strangely beautiful in its metamorphosis.

And, I hope I will remember the value of the desert, the wilderness, the sackcloth and ashes--that suffering is not something that has gone wrong in this world, an imperfection to be overcome.  In God's world, suffering is what makes things perfect, what makes us perfect.

And, I hope I will remember there is a world beyond this one, where suffering will be no more.  Where tears and pain and sadness will cease.  Where, Lord willing, I get to hang out with my Congolese little boy for all of eternity.

A Love Story . . .

We can all picture it.  The couple who meets, falls deeply and madly in love, and then goes through a series of mishaps that include missed cues, missed schedules, and missed communication.  It looks like everything is lost:  that these two people who were fated to be together will just miss one another.  But, then, right when the audience can take it no longer, the music swells as they both show up at the same coffee shop or bookstore or top of the Empire State Building.  They run around frantically, certain that if they find this one person, life will be as it should. There is a pause in the music.  He turns around, and she is there.  Time stops. She feels him watching her, and they meet one another's gaze.  They tilt their head in this way that say, "I knew it was you all along."  And, in that moment,  they embrace, sure that their "happily ever after" has just begun.

Oh, how Hollywood fools us.  How writers know how to create the most predictable chain of events and still have us sitting on the edge of our seats.  How they create unrealistic expectations of how life and relationships actually work.  And, I have to admit I was drawn in.  Throughout our journey, I have been kind of hoping for the same thing.  Not a romantic love story, but I have hoped that one day, we would have our own family love story.  After all of the drama of this entire adoption, we would have this magical moment where our friends and family come to the airport to see us carry JP to his new home.  Things would move in slow-motion; there would be a beautiful, emotion-filled score to highlight each moment;   JP's smile would run from ear to ear, and there would not be a dry eye around.

Wonderfully, that scene does happen in real-life, and it is a moment to be cherished.  But, it won't be our love story.  This journey has been about a different kind of love.

It has been about a God who redeemed me.

It has been about a God who started a small seed in my heart, one that was obedient to His will.

It has been about a God who closed the obvious doors and opened other doors and left me with only faith to walk through them.

It has been about a God who took me to a different place than my anxious heart wanted to go.

It has been about a God who said, "I know what the world says is good and right, but I have a different plan."

It has been about a God who cried with me, because He has been there.

It has been about a God who used tangible encouragement to show me He was still there.

It has been about a God who did not leave me alone, but who spoke to my heart through His word and song and the care of others.

It has been about a God who answered specific prayers to show me His might; and it has been about a God who did not answer specific prayers to show me His wisdom.

It has been about a God who slowly exchanged my thoughts about what is just and merciful and replaced them with His own.

It has been about a God who saved me from my own spiritual poverty and a God who saved a little boy in the Congo from physical poverty and a God who knit our two hearts together in the most beautiful way for all of eternity.

It has been about a love story with my Creator and Savior and ultimate Redeemer.

And, I will never be the same.


On Thursday night, we received the news we were certain would come but had not yet been said out loud:  With all that is going on with adoptions in the DRC, and with the issues that have arisen in your case, we think the best thing for JP right now is that he stays in Congo.  We were sad.  We were still a bit worried for JP.  But, we agreed.  And, we know it is by the grace of God that we can have faith that He has and will continue to care for our little boy.

That same day, I received a book from a friend (I Will Carry You:  A Sacred Dance of Grief and Joy by Angie Miller).  My sweet friend has encouraged me to read this book for the past year.  It is a book about a woman's journey through grief and saying goodbye to the romantic notions she had of life with one of her children, a little girl who was diagnosed with a terminal condition in the womb.  It is not all sad:  the Lord walked her through her season of grief in the same way He has guided me, with love and patience and mercy.  But, I knew receiving that book on that day was no coincidence: there are no mishaps with God. It was just another part of this love story.

As I cracked open the book, I read this quote by Kahlil Gibran:

And the cup He brings,

though it burns your lips,

has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter 

has moistened with His own sacred tears. 

On the night I learned that God was not going to take our cup, on the night I realized that the prayers we have prayed for the past eighteen months were finally receiving the sweet voice of "no" from the Lord, on the night when our wait was over and we did not get what we wanted, I found comfort.   I was reminded that my Savior has been there. That he cried out to God in the garden, "Lord, please take this cup. . ."  But, for our sake, God didn't.  The cup was not easy: but, it was created for our good and His glory.  Our Lord spent the next day in utter despair.  He bore the entire wrath of God, facing pain and shame and death. But God did not leave His child there. Three days later, He showed that, in the grip of God's sovereign hand, no trial can overtake us.  

And, so, it is time. It is not time to move on, but to move forward.  To determine how we can best help JP thrive in his home country. To help him know the Lord. To investigate whether we can free his mother and sisters from the poverty and bondage so many women face.  To allow God to use this season to make us more compassionate and giving and open-handed; to make us less fearful of trials and the uncertainty of the future; to make us trust Him so deeply that we find our "happily ever after" in Him alone.  

So, we end where we started:  a desire to give an orphan hope and a home, a desire to add one of the world's orphans to all this love in the Bell home.  God answered that prayer for JP and for us, and He has graciously used this journey to do so much more. Through the 'narrow place' of suffering and loss, we can happily say on the other side that He is truly good, and He really does do good in all things.     

To all who have followed us on this journey, thank you for praying for us and bearing with us and loving on us. My fervent prayer for you would be that He takes the cup when He can; that He leaves the cup when it will bring you more of Him; and that He writes his own purposeful and meaningful and eternal love story into your heart.

When you pass through the waters,

I will be with you;

and when you pass through the rivers,

they will not sweep over you.

When you walk through the fire, 

you will not be burned;

the flames will not set you ablaze.

For I am the Lord, your God,

the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

Isaiah 43:2-3

Letting Go . . .

This is a tough post for me to write.  It is probably the second most difficult post I have had to pen, aside from the one where I let everyone know our initial adoption had failed.  That post was about our circumstances.  This post is about my heart.

I have to be honest:  I have not really let go.  I am sure those of you who keep up with this blog are saying sarcastically, Really? You could have fooled us. It is evident in everything that I write.  While the thoughts are not as frequent, the tears not as near, the heart not as broken, I am still clinging to the hope that one day JP can be part of our family.

In some way, that makes sense. August and most of September were filled with worry for JP and then anticipation of getting him into a safe place.  He is there now, and I can rejoice.  Our family can rest in the fact that we can support him to adulthood, that he can go to school, that he will be fed and cared for.

But, something else keeps my heart so tightly wrapped around that little boy. We told JP we would come back for him.  When given the choice between several different options, JP's mom chose us.  We warned her that the adoption may never be a reality, that it would take at least another year for him to become part of our family, if that was even a possibility, but she didn't waver. That is a heavy responsibility that is hard to let go.

In July, a few weeks after returning from my trip, I had the incredible privilege of having dinner with one of the nation's foremost experts in care of children from trauma, especially those in international adoption. Through an interesting string of circumstances, God placed her in our home for some good ole-fashioned chicken tenders and boxed mashed potatoes.   She was so gracious and welcomed our discussion, even when she was just wearing the hat of grandma that day. We asked her the one question burning on our hearts, "If we ever have the opportunity to adopt JP again, based on the trauma he has experienced, should we even try?"

Her advice has carried me through the last few months.  She told a sweet story of one of her babies, where she experienced the value of giving things over to the Lord.

She told us, "When faced with a difficult decision like this one, I always ask myself three questions."

"First, I ask,  Is it Biblical?"  Caring for the orphan is clearly outlined in the Bible.  Because we were waiting to see if family reunification was possible, we felt confident that we could say yes.

"Second," she said, "You need to wait to see if God lines up the circumstances for you to move forward."

I won't even get to the third question because this is where we are stuck.  God hasn't said, "No", yet.  He has said, "Wait."  And in that wait, I have to confess that I have not been trusting Him to work it out.  Sure, my behavior has come a little closer.  I feel I have not actively taken control in any situation, and I praise God for granting me self-control there.

But, as my grief changes and consumes me less and less, I have become more aware that my heart is still deep in turmoil, waging war against the peace God has for me. I constantly check the computer for updates (and when I say constant, ask my husband or any other adoptive parent for the obscene levels of email-checking that goes on through the international adoption experience).  I still experience full-on anxiety when I play worst-case scenarios in my head.  And, what has disturbed me the most is that I hold a little back in my worship of the Lord.  I still praise God for His goodness, but there is something in me that doesn't fully engage.

I know why. Inside me, there is this irrational and unfounded fear--to the point of silliness--that if I release this into God's care, that will be the end of it. If I fully worship Him, if I fully praise Him in spite of the fact that He has not yet answered this prayer, He will think I am over it.  He will assume it still isn't my heart's desire.  It will fall in the cracks somewhere, and I will always wonder and regret whether or not I should have done more. Everyone, including myself, will think we should just go back to normal and forget that there is a little boy, and tons of other little boys and girls like him, who doesn't have a family.  I will have given up on JP.

But, oh the sweet truth that settled on my today. Letting go is not giving up.  

Letting go does not change my or JP's circumstances.  Letting go doesn't even change the future; God is already there, directing it and guiding it and making it align with His will.  Letting go is a change in my heart. It is releasing my hand from the invisible control I thought I had on the situation and placing it in the Lord's.  It is a willingness to let Him lead and to understand that He only expects me to look to Him.  It is a belief in the promise from I Peter 5:7 to "cast all my anxiety on Him because He cares for me."  It is recognizing that God's control is better than mine, even when everything in me wars to hold on.

A sweet friend of mine, who is struggling with her husband's illness, described it as a "ripping from her hands."  It is not easy, but it is good.  I have to believe that He cares for me.  I have to believe that He is bigger than my illusion of control: that if I cry out my desires to Him, He delights in me.  I have to believe that He tells me to only worry about today because He has the future under control.  I have to believe that when I am weak, He is strong.  That when I am resting, He is fighting for me.  That He can direct the hearts of kings and use all circumstances for His glory.  That He has not brought me this far to leave me in this place--either He will provide or He will heal completely.  That His plans for me are greater than my fears.  That He will not put those who wait on Him to shame. He promises all of these things.  But, I will never see them--and they will never shine in me--unless I release my grip.

I wrote all of that on Friday night, when my daughter had a friend over and I could actually think.  On Saturday, she and I went to see the movie Grace Unplugged.  In it, an eighteen-year-old girl rebels against her parents and runs away.  Her father closes his grip on her so tightly that he threatens to hurt his marriage and his faith.  As an audience member, who knows that most movies end well, you just want to scream at him to chill out and let things take care of themselves.  But, then, it was like God came out of the movie and spoke to me.  At the end of his rope, he hugs his wife, looks up, and tells God, "She's yours."  He releases his daughter into the care of the Lord, because he recognizes he never really had control in the first place.

So, here it goes.  Sweaty palms, beating heart, tears streaming. It's amazing how real the illusion of control feels. I take a deep breath.  He's yours, God.  Do with him what is right.  I release him to you because you are  God and I am not.  You are able to do more than I can even imagine in his life and in my heart.    

When the Mundane is Anything But. . .

As I flew home from Africa in July, I read the novel The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.  It is a book about two kids fighting terminal cancer who form a relationship.  They laugh. They cry. They fall in love. It's actually a pretty good book.  When I had been in the plane just a few hours, I ran across a scene that stopped me in my tracks.  There is this beautiful moment in the book where one of the characters--a teenage boy with cancer--is scheduled to have surgery the next day.  So, what's the big deal?  This surgery will take his only good eye and make him blind. So the day before he loses his eyesight, what does he choose to do? Go to his friend's house to play video games.  They just sit there playing video games, acting like nothing is on the horizon. Then, in one moment, it hits.  The boy realizes, or is just unable to hold his emotion any longer, Today is the last day I will be able to do this. Today is the last day I will see the TV and play this game and have life be normal.  And, suddenly, the terror and the anxiety turn into rage.  He begins to scream and throw chairs and wreak havoc on the small room that minutes earlier housed what seemed like a normal day among guy friends.

The mundane became sublime.  The everyday became the day that matters.  

Life is kind of like that really.

When I landed after that trip, I put some hard truths on a shelf, truths that needed to brew and process in my weary soul.  Truths about meeting JP's birth family and how God used a Tuesday afternoon in a small room to steer the events in the life of a child.  

Last Saturday night I was reminded again of God's power in making the ordinary extraordinary in a profound way.

Philip and I were blessed to attend a beautiful wedding--honestly, it was the most beautiful wedding I have ever attended.  The bride and groom were gorgeous, surrounded by other gorgeous recently-graduated fraternity and sorority brothers and sisters.  It also didn't hurt that my friend--the mother of the bride--is a five-star hostess with the Midas touch:  everything she touches in the world of making people feel welcome turns to gold.  But, those things aren't what made the wedding so astoundingly beautiful.

It was the family's invitation to seek the Lord, their fervent prayers that those who attended would see Him.  And, God, in His faithfulness, showed up.   

The wedding was an outside wedding, and as we were seated, the egg-carton sky seemed gray and heavy. Every few minutes the sky released a low rumble, far at first and then closer and closer.  As the bride walked down the aisle to the covered pavilion where her groom waited, I prayed that the Lord would keep the rain at bay until the wedding was over.  What a terrible thing for this lovely wedding to be ruined, I thought.  But, God's loveliness is not my loveliness, and it isn't until I am in the middle of it, that I can see the beauty.

The rain did wait.  And wait. And wait.  The traditional Episcopalian liturgy, though, tested its limits (sorry, my Episcopalian friends. I tell you that I saved a program because the liturgy was so beautiful. I am praying my daughter meets an Episcopalian, so we can use it).  At the exact moment the minister announced that the family would be partaking in Communion, large drops began to fall on the guests.  The mumbles and shuffling grew, and a few guests ran for cover. The mother of the bride and the mother of the groom decided to hide under the pavilion that was already full of a beautiful, and rather large, wedding party.  I am sure they were hoping to protect their dresses, but what happened next was incredible.  The wedding guests slowly filed under the pavilion.  The guests pressed and got closer and surrounded the young couple.

And, there we all stood.  Under cover, with the pitter-patter of rain surrounding us, darkness descending. We began to read the prayers for the couple.  Then, the young woman who hoped to sing with a stringed accompaniment began her solo, a cappella (feel free to click here to listen to the song as you read):

How Deep the Father's Love for Us
How Vast Beyond All Measure
That He Would Send His Only Son
To Make a Wretch His Treasure

How Great the Pain of Searing Loss,
The Father Turns His Face Away,
As Wounds Which Mar the Chosen One,
Bring Many Sons to Glory.

Behold the Man Upon the Cross,
My Guilt Upon His Shoulders,
Ashamed I Hear the Mocking Voice,
Call Out Among the Scoffers

It Was the Sin that Held Him There,
Until It Was Accomplished,
His Dying Breath Has Brought Me Life,
I Know That It Is Finished. 


I Will Not Boast in Anything,
No Gifts, No Power, No Wisdom,
But I Will Boast in Jesus Christ,
His Death and Resurrection 

Why Should I Gain from His Reward?
I Cannot Give an Answer?
But, This I Know With One Accord,
His Wounds Have Paid My Ransom.

She stopped singing.  There was silence, and rain, and the sweet presence of the Savior.  The moment was short:  soon, we all had to get back to our lives.  The wedding party paused, took it all in, and ran in the rain to the reception hall.  We all started the party that would be the celebration of their union.  But, I could tell that moment never really left.  It was evident from the feel, this worshipful undertone that filled the evening. And, something teeny-tiny in me was forever changed by the experience.  

Isn't that how God works? He takes the really hard, the really beautiful, and the really ordinary. And, He shows up.  He chooses to reveal Himself in the moments we least expect Him, and He uses those moments to make teeny-tiny changes in us, chiseling and molding out our very being, until we are in the image of His Son.  He draws us closer through those times we pray won't ever happen, and He says, "I have more for you, my child.  I have Me."  And, we get just a glimpse of His heart for this world and His hope for the next.

I can't wait to worship Him, in a company of saints, as He reunites all that is broken and shows His magnificent power over all of creation.  For now, I have to rest in these moments where I see only a glimpse of the glory that is to come.  If that moment in the rain is any hint, it must be spectacular. 
    
 

The Whisper of God

I am in such a strange season now.  Don't get me wrong: this week has been the best I have experienced in a very long time.  I did not realize how much the weight of my emotions were actually tied up in worry for JP's day-to-day health and safety.  And, while life in a country with so much poverty still carries great risk, my anxiety has eased immensely. I know that his basic needs are being met, and there is such hope in that.  Actually, we are almost normal, and normal has become strange.

I think that calm is why my time with the Lord this morning blew me away.  Today's entry in Jesus Calling referenced I Kings 19.  While Sarah Young (the author of the small devotional) does a wonderful job sharing what she hears from God, I don't want to miss what the Lord wants to teach me through my own study. So, this morning, I turned to I Kings 19 and found Him there.  Like, I literally found Him there (and you can too).
I am not one to remember every Bible story.  I love reading and literature, but to tell you the truth, I can never remember the names of the characters or important details in the plot of books I have read.  I am more of a thematic reader: one line or scene in a novel will capture me--because it so beautifully masters what we experience as humans--and that's what I take from the book.  And, honestly, if I talk about the book to another person weeks or months later, I may nod and agree, but half the time I don't really know what they are talking about.  Last spring, I actually read 100 pages in a book I had already read before I remembered that it was a book I had already read before.  Sad, I know.  Absolutely shattering coming from an English teacher.    

So, in this fashion, I approached I Kings 19 today.  I actually read I and II Kings last summer in an attempt to try to investigate the histories.  I can't tell you much about it--I love that David was chosen even though he was the tiniest.  I will never forget the cost of his sin in adultery and murder, the death of his first son, and the lament that ensued.  I may have remembered those things through children's stories, though.  My takeaway from last summer: I understood the Psalms a bit more as David was chased by those who wished to defeat him.  But, I completely forgot about Elijah. And, he's pretty big.   I mean he actually gets to meet God in I Kings.

I have to say that the one benefit of my reading amnesia is that reading experiences are always new to me: kind of like Drew Barrymore in 50 First Dates.   So, I sat in awe when reading about Elijah's encounter with God this morning. The prophet Elijah is running for his life because Israel's leaders (Ahab and Jezebel) did not like what he prophesied (go figure!).  He is alone in what appears to be the wilderness.  An angel appears to him and gives him food and water, and then he wanders for 40 days before he is directed to go to the mountain of God for God himself is going to pass by there.  So, he goes and he waits.  And, then God surprises him and us (and me, over and over again).

So God said to Elijah, "Go forth and stand on the mountain before the Lord." And, behold, the Lord was passing by! And a great and strong wind was rending the mountains and breaking in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind.  And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire a sound of a gentle blowing.  When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood in the entrance of the cave.  And behold a voice came to him and said, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" (I Kings 19:  11-13)

That still, small voice of God then told Elijah what he needed to find safety.  I have to say:  I wasn't expecting much today.  But, those three verses astounded me.  The destructive winds, the earthquake and the fire only announced God's imminent presence.  We cannot overlook the incredible power of God.  But, when He chose to be present and speak, it was in none of those things: it was in a whisper.

I don't know what I think about hearing God.  I know that sometimes hearing someone who is not "present" conjures raised eyebrows and skepticism.  I do feel I have heard the voice of God twice.  The first time I heard the voice of God, I was praying for a sweet friend of mine who had gone on a short-term mission to help others.  I had been praying for her heart on that trip.  And, as I worshiped one Sunday, I heard something speak to my soul: I have made her new.  I hadn't talked to her at all on the trip, but when I got in the car, I had a message on my phone, "I can't wait to tell you how amazing the trip was."  I called back: He had made her new.

A few weeks ago, I was again in worship, deeply hoping for the Lord to heal my weary soul.  Unexpectedly, I heard the same voice I had heard three years earlier. I knew that voice--it did not speak to my ears or my mind: it was inaudible and yet fully understood at the same time.  I heard three words: I will sustain.  It was Him again, giving the same promise that He makes repeatedly in Scripture, to my weak and weary heart.

I do believe He sometimes literally speaks to us, in a voice that interrupts our normal thinking so much so that it can only be the Spirit.  I also believe He has spoken to my soul in numerous other ways.  Throughout the past year, I have received encouragement from friends, or even acquaintances, that is so close to what I am thinking and feeling, it can only be from God.  I have heard the Scripture leap off the page into my heart, most notably this year from the Psalms (funny he prepared me last summer to understand them more).  Even in the Congo, when I was in the midst of fear and overwhelm in my hotel room, and in need of a stamp pad for fingerprints, I heard Him when I opened my suitcase only to find I had accidentally packed a stamp pad that was part of a toy for JP.  It wasn't just the provision of a stamp pad (I ended up not really even needing it).  It was the the sweet whisper: You are not alone. I will sustain.

We have gone through what feels like a storm of bad news this year. But, the storm has just prepared us for what is found in the gentle blowing.  One of the songs we sang today has a beautiful verse that moved me in light of these thoughts:

Oh, what a reunion

The Bride and her King

Together, we'll praise Him

Together, we'll sing

And, I had this image of reuniting with my Creator.  Sure, it is His power that will make me fall on my knees and worship.  It is the deafening wind, and shaking earth, and consuming fire that makes us fear Him, in a way that recognizes Him as God.  But, it won't be those things that will make me run to Him. It won't be those things that will give me the freedom and peace to approach Him the way I would my Father, with comfort and assurance of acceptance. It won't be those things that will make my homecoming like a reunion, even though I have never "seen" Him.  That relationship, that deep knowing that allows me to cry out to God as Abba! and Friend, is built when He declares salvation and shows His presence and reminds me of His promises through the sweet voice of Truth.  What praise to a God who chooses to make Himself known both through His power and through the small voice that whispers to my soul. 

 

He Makes a Way. . .

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's might hand, that 

He may lift you up in due time.  Cast all your anxieties on Him because He cares for you."

I Peter 5:6-7

Almost two weeks ago, I received a call.  An orphanage in the DRC would consider taking JP in, if his mom needed care for him.  They were not taking little boys at this time, but they would make an exception to help save him.  This orphanage could be a long-term home for JP, where he could receive food, a bed, medical care and an education (all things we knew he was currently living without).  

I was excited for the hope that this brought to JP's life.  But, I was also excited for another reason:  the mom finally had choice for her son.  Before this point, she only had two options:  keep him with her or relinquish him to be adopted.  Given the family's situation, I was not sure that was truly a "choice" for her, and I hated to think she may have chosen adoption out of nothing but desperation.  Now, I had a third option.

So, for the first time, knowing that we could give the mother freedom to choose what she thought was best for her family, we asked Esther to present three options:

1.  If you are able to care for JP, we will continue to pray heartily for your family;

2.  If you are not able to care for JP, but would like for him to remain in country, he can stay at the orphanage for as long as you like.  We will provide his care, and you can continue to be vested in his life.

3. If you are not able to care for JP, but would like for us to try to adopt him, we can try that.  If we are unable to adopt, he could still stay at the orphanage, as well.

We did not know if Esther would be able to find JP, but now that we had every option available, we needed to understand her wishes so we could decide when/how to let go.  We understood she and JP were living in their third home, after other family members had asked them to leave because they could not care for them. One week later, Esther finally found the family: JP's birth mother was in the hospital.  Her health had decreased in her attempts to care for her family.

And, after much waiting, this weekend we learned that JP's mother made her wishes know, with the help of her own advocate.  She recognized that she could not currently offer a safe place for him and receive the medical care that she desperately needed.   We feel so blessed that the Lord allowed us to present her with all three options and that He gave her counsel:  that gives us incredible peace, and I hope it gives incredible peace to JP's mom, as she continues to struggle in her fight against severe illness. 

As we wait for all of the "hiccups" to work themselves out, I am--for the first time in months--feeling my own peace.  I am resting at God's feet, in awe of His goodness, and waiting patiently for Him to fulfill His promise to the orphan and widow.  A sweet friend sent the book Jesus Calling to me when she knew I was facing trials this summer.  Today's entry was more than perfect.  

You will not find My peace by engaging in excessive planning, attempting to control what will 

happen to you in the future.  This is a commonly practiced form of unbelief.  When your mind 

spins with multiple plans, Peace may sometimes seem to be within your grasp; yet it 

always eludes you.  Just when you think you have prepared for all possibilities, 

something unexpected pops up and throws things into confusion.

I did not design the human mind to figure out the future.  That is beyond your capability.

I crafted your mind for continual communication with Me. Bring me all your needs, 

your hopes and fears.  Commit everything into My care.  Turn from the path of planning

to the path of Peace.

While some things are yet to be decided, at this time, all of my prayers have been answered.  Esther was moved to keep us informed of JP's well-being.  An advocate stepped up to honor the plight of the widow. And, JP is in a safe place.  The situation is out of our hands, and into His.  Actually, where it has always been, if I would just let Him lead.  

When There Is No Way . . .

A friend posted these verses to my page yesterday.  I am so thankful for this Gospel reminder of how God loves the prayers of His people, loves justice, and loves answering the plight of the widow. 

Then Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up. ² He said: “In a certain town there was a judge who neither feared God nor cared what people thought. ³ And there was a widow in that town who kept coming to him with the plea, ‘Grant me justice against my adversary.’

⁴ “For some time he refused. But finally he said to himself, ‘Even though I don’t fear God or care what people think, ⁵ yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will see that she gets justice, so that she won’t eventually come and attack me!’”

⁶ And the Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. ⁷ And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? ⁸ I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?”

Today's post is difficult to write. Not because it is so emotional--although it is extremely pivotal--but because it is just difficult to write what happened clearly and objectively.  I hope I am able to capture what happened well.  

On the day that I traveled to the DRC, allegations had begun to fly about who was responsible for what happened in JP's case.  Along with other people, our in-country representative was named as one of the parties responsible.  I don't want to make judgments here.  I later learned that was best handled by the in-country court, anyway. Regardless, he felt he had done nothing wrong, so he brought a civil suit against the mother on the day that I met with him.  He was accusing her of ruining his reputation, and it was important that the truth come out in court.  

I did not truly understand the nature of the suit until a month later.  I thought the courts were debating the correct placement for JP.  All I knew was that JP's future was tied up in Congolese courts, and we would have no idea the length of that process.  In August, I received a frantic email from Esther: the family had received notice that they were to appear at court to answer our in-country representative's claims against JP's mom.  The result could be a fine that they could not pay.

My first instinct was to get really, really mad.  Why was he suing the mother?  What would this accomplish? I think I was mad for two reasons.  The first, obvious reason was that I did not feel this was necessary or fair to the mother, who I had learned was a widow.  I knew that the Bible instructs us to care for the orphan and the widow, and I was concerned that our actions (by simply agreeing to adopt) had brought this upon the family.  The second, more subtle reason was that I could tell this was straining Esther's trust.  But, I could not offer any promises. I have no control over a person, who feels he has been slighted and lives on the other side of the world. So all I could say in response was, I am so sorry to hear what has happened.  I hope they do not have to pay anything.  I will pray for the family.

And, I just prayed.  And, I asked others to pray.  And, they did.  We just nagged God, and I hope He was pleased by it.

I know that He answered that prayer.  Two weeks later, I received another email.  A gentleman who is an advocate in the DRC, and who knows JP's family, stood up to represent JP's mom in court.  He did not seek any payment, because he knew that she and her family were suffering.  And, it appears, at this time, that he represented her well.  Based on the oral reports through several levels of retelling, much like the telephone game I am sure, it appears that the court recognized our in-country representative's claim, but essentially said there is someone else to bring the claim against (the woman who offered to help JP in the first place), not JP's mom.  They would contact JP's mom again if they saw the need, and they have not yet done so.   

The widow received justice.  I hope our in-country representative feels his voice was heard.  And, then something unexpected happened from this story.  Something that took me a bit to figure out.  JP's mother now had an advocate, a third-party representative, who was not related to--and in fact was somewhat adversarial toward--anyone I knew working on the adoption.  

That was huge.  Even though the family had told me over and over again they wanted us to adopt him, I did not have a way to get that information in writing in a way that seemed objective.  If I got the family's relinquishment, or someone I knew in the DRC got the family's relinquishment, the validity of that relinquishment would always be questioned. My hands were tied. But, now, I knew the mother had someone who was willing to represent her wishes, who had been tenacious in doing so.  

And, he helped us answer the third prayer. But, one more thing needed to happen . . . 

A Woman Named Esther . . .

Okay, so she wasn't named Esther, and she wasn't married to a king.  But, she did seem to come along "for such a time as this . . ."

When I traveled to the DRC to investigate what had happened with JP's case, I wanted to hire people who did not have connections or allegiance to either party involved.  We hired a gentleman who worked for some missionaries to be my translator, who I will call M & M, and then we hired a private investigator that we knew worked with another organization, Esther.

I cannot tell you how dear these people are to me.  They were with me from sunup to sundown, working through lunch (without lunch, mind you), to try to understand the truth.  We spent a great deal of time waiting on people and talking with one another.  Even halfway across the world, we all worshipped the same God (I didn't ask for that; it just happened that way), and our conversations often turned to His provision.  At the end of both the meeting with our in-country representative and the birth family, we all prayed.  I remember M & M walking down the street with me to find a place to meet the birth family, and he said, "Kristen, I take care of you."  And, I knew he would.

If M & M was my lifeline on that trip, Esther was the watch dog.  In our meetings, she would sit quietly, listening to all parties, and then she would interject with a really strong observation. She was not afraid to argue with me, nor was she afraid to ask a question that made someone else feel uncomfortable.  She was tenacious.  She did not speak English at all, so I remember one morning when she and I used iTranslate on my iPad to have a conversation.  We maybe understood 80% of what the other person said before the WiFi at the hotel went out, and we had to go back to staring at one another until M & M arrived.

Those days with M & M and Esther are days I will not soon forget.

I decided to leave the DRC one day early.  I did not even tell M & M until he arrived to bring me a new phone, as I had dropped the other one and did not want to be in transit without a phone.  He was shocked, but he understood.  He and I said goodbye, but I did not have the chance to say goodbye to Esther.   I sent her my thanks through M & M, and headed out of DRC.

A few days later, forgetting that she and I even had each other's email address, I received an email from her. For the next six weeks, the emails from Esther always said the same thing--the family is struggling to care for JP.  Honestly, I wished she would not email me these things:  it made it that much more difficult.  I could not be of any help, and I could not make any promises to her or to the family.  My constant reply was one or more of the following--I am sorry they are struggling.  We still want to help, but we don't know if we will be able to adopt.   We will continue to pray for you and for the family.  At one point, Esther was so bothered by the family's plight that our organization's leader asked her to step back.  I sent a message thanking her for all she had done to help.

But, she didn't give up.  She kept in touch with JP and his mother: first, at JP's uncle's house, then at the birth mother's cousin's house; and finally, at the hospital, where JP's birth mother had to go because she was not receiving proper care while she cared for JP.  Esther used her own money for transportation, and she used her own time to visit, an amazing thing when people have so little.    

And, her actions did not come without incredible consequence.  She definitely saved us from losing JP forever.  I think she may have saved the family from abandoning JP to an orphanage where he would not get proper care.  And, in the end, she may have saved his life.

And, we never asked for her help.  It took everything in me not to try to direct the course of Esther's words or actions toward the family, but I had nothing to offer that could sustain there.  So, we just prayed and encouraged and waited.

In response to our request for her not to be involved any more, she sent a message to me. It said (via Google Translate and my own attempt to piece the sentences together), "I have investigated other cases and been able to leave them, but for some reason, I feel I am not finished with this one yet. I always pray to God that He would lay problems on my heart."

And, so He did.  He moved the spirit of this sweet, tenacious woman to fight for JP.  And we will be forever grateful for this specific answer to prayer, by a small woman on the other side of the world.

Hope and a Home?

When I first titled this blog, I had no idea what it would mean.  We did not have a child in mind;  we did not even understand the DRC very well;  we just had "hope" that we could give a "home" to one of the world's orphans.  Sixteen months later, we are living that revelation.

Those of you who have read the blog know that the last two months have been heart-wrenching for me. Actually, this is the deepest loss I have felt.  I should probably be grateful for that--I have not yet had to face the loss of a parent, or a sibling, or a spouse, or a child.  So, this is the closest to grief I have ever come.

But, something else has been gnawing at me that has coupled that grief with a great amount of anxiety.  When I left the DRC in July, JP's mother had already told me that she did not have a way to care for him.  JP's uncles had already told me that they did not want to care for him.  And, based on the situation at the time, there was not a way--either legally or ethically--that we could care for him.  So, I left, prayerful; but I was honestly really worried for his safety, future and well-being.

Throughout the last three months, I have held tightly to three prayers:

1)  The Lord would move someone to keep in touch with JP's family, and if there was a need, our family, so that we could provide help and save him from being abandoned to another, and quite possibly, very scary orphanage;

2) The Lord would defend the widow, JP's mother, so that her rights in this situation were well-represented;  and

3) The Lord would protect JP, and if he could not be cared for by his family, provide a place for him to be safe.

Because of a deep urging I felt, which I can only attribute to the Holy Spirit, I had to let go.  I could not make any of these things happen.  If I did, and if things worked out, I would always wonder if it was God's will or my own tenacity.  Knowing that international adoption brings its own share of trauma, I was fearful that any attempt on my own would haunt me and any future relationship I would have with JP.  So, I had to step back and watch steps unfold.

And, then, God started to work.  I'll be honest.  At first, it looked hopeless.  At first, it even looked like we had done more harm than help.  But, slowly God revealed His hand in a mighty way.  Over the next few days, I will share His story of using His people on the other side of the world to answer our deepest prayers. It's a great story: one that, in spite of continued uncertainty, allows me to do nothing but worship.  I hope it does the same for you. Because, in the end, His glory in all things is our greatest treasure.

A Mother's Heart. . .and a Father's Love

It has been two months since I said goodbye to my little boy and left the DRC.  I am not his mother. He has a beautiful mother who continues to seek what is best for him against nearly impossible odds.  But, he is my little boy.  I think it probably seems weird to someone who has not gone through the journey of adoption to "get" how you can feel so much for someone before he even lives with you. But something inside of a mother--when she knows that the care of a little one has been placed into her hands--tugs at her heartstrings so that she can't help but harness that fierce affection and concern and unconditional love that the Lord folds into our very core.

I don't think it was the first time we visited JP that I became his mother.  He bonded so well with Philip on that trip that I could just sit in the background and enjoy the idea of having him in our home.  I now recognize that it was on my second trip--when I traveled alone in February--that he became my little boy.  In the course of our visit to the orphanage, I nourished him and taught him and rocked him.  We shared smiles and that small recognition, even when he ran around and played with the other children, that he belonged somewhere, and that was with me.  It was that day that everything changed; even though I knew the struggle ahead, I was in it for the long haul.

Two months after saying goodbye, I have to admit that there is still an overwhelming ache in my soul.  I can't place it, but I feel it in that small spot, just above the stomach and below the sternum: the exact center of my being.  Sometimes, especially now that I am back at school and a routine, the ache disappears and I get back on with life as usual.  I am actually joyful and carefree.  And, then, sometimes, the ache is so deep that the floodgates open, and the feeling that we are so out of control of our little boy's life takes over. 

And, I know that is just part of grief.  I know it is natural. I know that one day I won't be so lost in my thoughts that, when I start to get in the shower, Philip won't say to me, "You just took a shower,"  and I won't actually have forgotten that not twenty minutes earlier I stood in our shower, nourished by the water, but lost in my own world.   I know that one day I won't go to bed thinking about JP and wake up thinking about JP, sometimes long before it is time to face the day.  I know that one day I won't wonder--each time we do something as a family--how much JP would have enjoyed it.  I know grief is temporary, and I know that suffering is part of life.  

But, right now, I am still his mom. And, I think about him all the time.  As much as anyone might think about their child, especially when that child's future is uncertain.  And, as his mother, I am the only one who really bears that weight.  My friends and family are extremely supportive, but honestly how many times can they say, "I'm sorry!" I know they mean it; I know that when I ask them to pray for JP, they are also praying for me.  And I am so grateful.  But grief is just a process, and in the end, there is really nothing they can do to "make it all better".  

Even Philip--who struggles with his own concern and worry for JP--cannot say or do or counsel enough to fix it.  He cannot know the right thing to say in each circumstance. He cannot be my knight in shining armor. He cannot restore my soul. That is too great a burden for him to bear.

I have found that songs often give me such clarity.  It is something about the melody and lyrics and quiet time overwhelmed by God's goodness.  Tonight, I was broken and encouraged by these words:

How great the love of God

That endures

That pursues

Even a sinner like me

How great the love of God

Determined

Bearing my burden

Restoring my soul

Unwavering 

Unchanging

Never resting

Never tiring

Full of goodness

and unceasing

How great the Love 

That covers me. 

What beautiful truths in the midst of suffering. And, I can say first-hand that I have seen these promises speak to me in the last two months.  Other people can do a great deal for us, but there are some seasons when the ache is so deep and the pain so solitary that only a relationship with the Creator carries us through.  He bears our burdens.  He cares for us without ceasing or resting or tiring.  He pursues me and covers me and endures with me.  He is nearer to me than anyone else. 

And, when I think that maybe He won't go the length with me, that maybe He will get sick of my constant pleas for JP and my heart, I have only to look to the cross to understand the depth and height and breadth of His love for me.     

A perfect Father's love for this mother's broken heart. 

      

Lessons . . .

Her name was Loretta Hermann. She was a slight woman, with short, black hair and a high-pitched voice.  We were a group of fourth graders, forced to spend every Wednesday night in Confirmation classes.  While she tried to instill in us the Ten Commandments and the Apostles' Creed, we could be found climbing above and below the tables, giggling with our friends.  If another church member had come in during these meetings--especially one of the elders--I am certain that we would have been sitting in our seats, the recipients of one strong, communal scolding, wearing those long faces that come early and stay long after, when we got home and our parents got ahold of us.  But that didn't happen.  And so, sweet Ms. Hermann did what many teachers often do amidst chaos: she begged us to Listen, Please!; she tried to make things as entertaining as possible through what I am sure was pretty comedic singing and dancing; and then, sometimes, she simply gave up, probably going home at night to wonder if any of her time spent with our group of hooligans was worth it.

Fourth grade Confirmation classes were all about memorization.  It wasn't until the sixth or seventh grade, right before we were confirmed, that we started thinking and questioning and discerning.  But, as nine- and ten-year olds, it was our job to have some knowledge of the Bible and the Christian faith etched into our minds.  We memorized a ton that year, and I can say that I still use the New Testament song I learned to find obscure books, so that I don't look like an idiot flipping back and forth through the pages.  It has made me look smarter than the next guy often.

Most of the curriculum that year was probably quite scripted.  There were things we were expected to know.  But, I remember one thing we learned because it was near and dear to Ms. Hermann's heart:  the 23rd Psalm. I remember sitting in front of her and reciting it, verse by verse, week after week. Like most people who grew up in church, I am certain that John 3:16 was the first piece of Scripture that I ever learned.  But, the 23rd Psalm had to have been the second.

Honestly, I had kind of forgotten about Ms. Hermann and that Confirmation class.  In my mid-twenties,  I had reached the height of my career dreams, and I did not "want" for anything,  Yet, I was miserable. I had become a mother, and suddenly, the aspirations I once had no longer held their value.  And while I worked at a wonderful place, with very kind people, I could not let go of the internal conflict inside me:  how do I let go of the time and effort I have spent reaching these goals, and at the same time, how do I commit so much to my work when I just want to be home? I remember driving to work many mornings with tears streaming down my face.  And, one of those mornings, the Word in my heart--placed there by the work of Loretta Hermann in my fourth grade Confirmation class--rose up inside me. I started to recite the 23rd Psalm: "Lord, you are my Shepherd; I shall not want." After that day, I recited the 23rd Psalm continuously on my way to work.  And through that Scripture, I found the peace and strength to continue until we had our second child, and I could stay home.

Now, ten years later, that same chapter has given me indescribable comfort.  While I am out of control, I can pray that chapter over J.P. and know that God is in control.  When I am anxious, I can speak aloud and gain peace.  When I am powerless, I can be reminded that God is powerful yesterday, today, and forever.   If these promises are true, what have we to fear?

Lord, you are J.P.'s shepherd,
He shall not want.
You make him to lie down in green pastures
You lead him beside still waters
You restore his soul
You lead him in path of righteousness for Your name's sake

Yea, though he walk through the valley of the shadow of darkness
He will not fear evil, for You are with him
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort him
You prepare a table before him in the presence of his enemies
You anoint his head with oil, his cup overflows

Surely, goodness and mercy will follow him all the days of his life
And he will dwell in the house of the Lord forever


As I prepare to head back to school,  I am encouraged by the example of Loretta Hermann.  I am sure she thought she was speaking into air, but she wasn't.  She was speaking Truth into my young heart, and that Truth has sustained me time and again.  When she forced me to memorize that chapter 25 years ago, I probably didn't want to.  I probably thought she was a bit "kooky". In fact, I may have even called her "kooky" under my breath, while giggling to my friends under the table.   But, because she never gave up, because she approached her mission with such passion, most of us obliged her "kooky" requests.  And, that dedication is now fruit in the next generation.

As an educator in the public schools, I won't be teaching my students Scripture. But I can still love them fervently, even when I want to squeeze their little heads or go home and cry (I promise I have only ever gone home and cried, except for the one time I actually cried at school).  I can find those truths about life and character-building and hard work and respect that are meaningful and hold fast to them even if I look a bit "kooky".  And, I can try to remember that those little, awkward people who don't want to listen to me will one day be smart, refined citizens of the world who need a strong character and a little truth to fall back on when life gets tough.

I do not know if she has gone to be with the Lord yet; I would guess that she was close to sixty when she taught our class.  But, she will one day come into His presence, and while I am no Judge, I think He will have found her faithful.  And, I too look forward to seeing her there one day, two "kooky" teachers together, who get to share in the privilege and delight of dwelling in the house of the Lord forever.

The Downward Spiral of Doubt

Over the last few days, I have really struggled with doubt. The wait to hear what happened at the hearing has been excruciating.  It has definitely been my lowest point I have had since returning home.  No news to me equated to bad news.  And, the anguish over what bad news may mean for JP was almost unbearable.

Quickly, this doubt turned to anger.  I grew more and more angry at certain people for their actions in this process, and at the system itself, which has not allowed any easy solution to the problem JP and his family are now facing. I started to make bullet point lists of all that had been done to cause the current hopelessness of the situation, and it made me wring my hands and scream and sob.  I was just spitting mad.

Today, I thought, "I am done waiting.  I really just want to call it like I see it and tell each person who put their own interests above the interests of this little guy, "You stink! And you are the reason this has all happened. There, I hope you sleep well at night.' "

But, that gives them too much power.  Can man, even in his sinful ways, foil the plans of God? Acts 17 tells us differently:  "The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in temples made by man, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything.  And he made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, that they should seek God, in the hope that they might feel their way toward him and find him."  Countless examples in the Bible show God's ability to use man's sin for His own purposes.

As I think through the character and nature of God, I recognize my anger for what it is: a lack of trust in God's sovereignty in this situation and a lack of faith in the goodness of His plan.   My anger is my attempt to control the situation and to take back some say in its outcome.  It is my attempt to wrongfully place myself as a key player in this scenario, when I am just a vessel.  And, sadly, it is my attempt to tell God that I can handle this better than He can.    

So, I am confessing my sin of anger, along with all the other sins that have reared their ugly heads during this process--shame and pride and doubt and 'you name it'.  I do not at all pretend to be settled. One second, I am at peace, and another I am not, and I just have to dust off and turn it all back to God over and over and over again.

Today's devotional in Jesus Calling really spoke to me.  It read, "Relax in my healing, holy Presence.  Allow Me to transform you through this time alone with Me. As your thoughts center more and more on Me, trust displaces fear and worry.  Your mind is somewhat like a seesaw.  As your trust in Me goes up, fear and worry automatically go down.  Time spent with Me not only increases your trust; it also helps you discern what is important and what is not."

I have to remember who He is and who I am in Him.  Tonight, I saw his character in the song below, and for a brief moment, I was encouraged.  Praying for new mercies each day and a compassion that never fails.


Great is Thy faithfulness,” O God my Father,
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not
As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.

“Great is Thy faithfulness!” “Great is Thy faithfulness!“
 Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—
“Great is Thy faithfulness,” Lord, unto me!

Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above,
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,
Thy own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!


Source: http://www.hymnal.net/hymn.php/h/19#ixzz2bcos4NeM

Out of Our Hands . . .And Into His

The last few weeks have been strangely quiet.  We got the privilege of taking a family trip to Colorado, where we did not check email or answer our phone for at least seven days.  That was a wonderful gift:  to reconnect as a family and find some calm, and honestly, disconnect from the situation here.  

There is very little to do, and for me, that creates some anxiety.  But, amidst the lack of control and certainty, I have been led time and again to the Lord.  Over the past few weeks, the Lord and a few sweet friends (and one very wise woman) have taught me that I will never have peace over this unless I turn it all to the Lord, unless I lay all my desires and assumptions down for His will to be done, unless I believe that He is only good and will do only good in this and in all things.  And, I have gained an increasing calm to pray for God to take this out of our hands--where our imperfect hearts and "wisdom" cannot sour His plan for JP's life.

When I checked email again last weekend, I saw those exact words from our facilitator: "It is out of our hands."  And, while that may seem unsettling at first, it actually brought peace.  I can know that we have been JP's advocate to the extent that we are able.  I can know that our idea of what life should look like will not take the place of God's plans for JP's life.  I can know that we acted above reproach in our respect for the process, for the Congolese, and for JP's family. 

And I can rest in the plans of the Creator, the Savior, the Author and Perfector of all things. 

Next week, there will be a hearing in the DRC to determine JP's future.  We have very little, if any, opportunity for input, as we are not Congolese and have no jurisdiction or rights under their laws.  We are okay with that:  this is an issue that should be handled there.

Right now, it appears that several scenarios could unfold.  First, JP's mom could say that she wants JP to stay with her.  If she is able and willing, we welcome that decision.  If JP's mom, however, states that she does not want JP to stay with her, he will most likely be sent to an orphanage.  Without some input on our part, it is likely that he will be sent to an orphanage where we can have no contact and we lose the ability to help him.    Therefore, if it is decided he should go to an orphanage, we hope to be able to suggest a place that we know is safe, where we can support him, and have time to make wise decisions for his future.

I send this for the sole purpose of asking prayer. Please do not get me wrong.  We are human. We are still grieving the loss of what we'd hope would be. We desperately do not want him to go to an orphanage where we cannot help ensure his care.  But, over the last few weeks, I have been continuously convicted that the anxiety I feel because I cannot "save" JP from his circumstances is sinful.  I cannot save him in any way, even if he were to live here: only Christ can, and I believe, He will.  Therefore, it is my hope that we only pray those things that are clearly biblical:

• First, I pray that the fatherless and widow are advocated for in the hearing.  That there is not a hint of injustice, and that both JP and his mom's best interests are honored.

• Second, I pray that JP's future home would be a place where He is raised in the fear and wonder of the Lord.  I pray that JP would know Him deeply, that he would see God amidst these trials in His life, and that he would spend his days in the embrace of the only Father who can really be his refuge. 

God is not surprised by any of this, and our worry, while understandable, is evidence of our shortsightedness.  Our worry negates the incredible, awe-inspiring immensity of our Creator and His power to overcome the world's shortcomings. And, honestly, our worry makes us more important than we really are.

I ran across Psalm 90 today.  It gave me such peace, and I have included it here below.  If you choose to read it, please go to the end--as there are some tough verses in the middle that only make sense in light of the entire chapter.  God's blessings to you all. We are so grateful for you.

Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.
Before the mountains were brought forth,
or ever you had formed the earth and the world,
from everlasting to everlasting you are God.

You return man to dust and say, "Return, O Children of man!"
For a thousand years in your sight
are but as yesterday when it is past,
or as a watch in the night.

You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream,
like grass that is renewed in the morning;
In the morning it flourishes and is renewed.
In the evening it fades and withers.

For we are brought to an end by your anger;
by your wrath, we are dismayed.
You have set our iniquities before you,
our secret sins in the light of your presence.

For all our days pass away under your wrath;
we bring our years to an end like a sigh.
The years of our life are seventy,
or even by reason of strength eighty;
yet their span is but toil and trouble;
they are soon gone, and we fly away.
Who considers the power of your anger,
and your wrath according to the fear of you?

So teach us to number our days
that we may get a heart of wisdom.
Return, O Lord! How long?
Have pity on your servants!
Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,
that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.
Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
and for as many years as we have seen evil.
Let your work be shown to your servants,
and your glorious power to their children.
Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us,
and establish the work of our hands upon us;
yes, establish the work of our hands.

Still, We Will Praise Him . . .

Just a few hours after writing my last post, The Insecurity of Shame,  I received a call from the U.S. Embassy in Kinshasa.  I cannot believe the timing of that truth from the Lord:  without my knowledge, he was preparing my heart to face the thing I feared most. 

JP's birth mother had stated, in a written affidavit to the Embassy, that she did not relinquish her rights to JP and that she did not approve of the adoption. He was telling me that, while he cannot deny our petition to adopt, he is sending it on to the office above him as Not Clearly Approvable.  Without further evidence to negate his findings,  our adoption would fail.

Over the next day, I barely slept, questioning what had happened.  I could hire a private investigator, but would I really know that they got to the truth without any coercion or suggestion? I wanted to meet the birth mother; I wanted to know what would happen to Jean Paul; I wanted to get to the truth.  I had prayed and prayed to God for understanding, for peace, for wisdom on what to do next.  And, I got the answer in a phone call from our facilitator: Why don't you go? Why don't you go and ask the questions so that you can understand what happened, so that you can have peace of mind? 

And, so I spent last week traveling to and from the Democratic Republic of Congo.  And, in a surreal experience with the birth family that I hope to write about at a later date, I saw the difficulties and intricacies of international adoption like I had never seen before.

I was prepared for them to say one of two things:

• I lied to the Embassy.  I did relinquish my rights, but I was embarrassed to admit I just abandoned him.
• Everything I said to the Embassy was true.  I did not relinquish my rights, and I want to care for JP.

In a turn of events that left my mouth hitting the floor, the mother did not say either of these things.  The mother essentially said, "I allowed JP to go to an orphanage because I was sick, but I was not aware that he was going to be adopted.  However, I cannot care for him, and our family wants to give him over into your care."  In this moment, two things happened:  I realized that the assumptions I had made throughout these adoption proceedings were not entirely correct, enough so that I did not feel comfortable moving forward; and I learned that this family has a deep need, one as an American foreigner, I felt powerless to help. 

I went back to my hotel, withdrew my petition, changed my flight and left a day early.  (there are a few procedural things I am leaving out here for the sake of you, the readers, who could probably care less)

I do think there is responsibility here for the events that occurred, but I honestly do not know where that responsibility lies.  This post is not about passing blame anyway.  If I learned one thing, it is that international adoption is messy.  There are emotions and interests and cultural differences and procedural hurdles that get in the way of simply doing that which is the right thing to do.  This post is about revealing the Lord's work in our lives, regardless of circumstances.

In the end, it only comes down to us.  It is our family's job to do all we can to ensure that we act rightly and justly and compassionately in all things. 

Finding the right thing to do has not been easy.  On Saturday, as Philip and I drove to get our own children, I sobbed in the car, "Why? Why would God give me this knowledge? Why would I know JP's plight and feel powerless to help him?"  I asked the Embassy, "Please go and meet with her again. See what she says."  Part of me wanted him to say, in some heroic act that extinguished the problem, "You were right. Here is your visa", but part of me wanted him to say, "Your fears are unfounded. The family is fine and can care for him," so that I would be able to wash my hands of it all, so that I could move forward without this heavy weight.  But, that didn't happen, and for some reason, I must live with this burden.  I must live with this knowing.

And with knowledge comes responsibility.  We acted with fervor, we emptied our pocketbooks, we devoted time and resources to bring him home with us.  Why would we not do the same thing for his well-being, even if it means he stays in the Congo?  That is a question I have had to ask myself: Was I really loving my neighbor as myself, or was part of my devotion because the end result would bring our family joy?  Let that not be so.  Let our love overflow so that we fight fervently for the orphan and widow, even when we get absolutely nothing in return.

And, so our intent has changed.  Without many resources or contacts in-country, we still want to try to help JP's family either remain intact, or we want to get him into safe care--where he can receive a bed, food, and an education--hopefully with a family, in his home country and culture.  Over the last few days, I have learned that there is an avenue for us to start a new adoption of JP in the future, but we now want that to be a last resort, only after we have exhausted all possibilities there.

I have found comfort in several things over the last few days. I have a husband whose heart is moved by those who suffer, and we will be forever changed by actually loving someone who faces true poverty.  I have realized that God has surrounded me by a group of wonderful family and friends who comfort and encourage me and point me to Christ. That is a blessing that is to be cherished.  I have realized how beautiful this process has been--that there have been people praying for JP.  Before this adoption, no one may have prayed for this little boy before, and now his provision and safety and salvation have been pleaded before the Father of the World.  That is no small thing. 

And, for the first time in my life, I have faced the place where the Why? has no answer.  And, I have a choice: to shake my fist at the heavens, or to trust.  This has not come easy.  It has not come without tears and turmoil and despair and screaming and a feeling in my heart that I won't be able to breathe.  But, I can't deny my Father, even in my faithlessness.  I am His: I have only to praise Him.  I still have faith in His goodness. I still expect Him to reveal Himself mightily to JP.  And, in His mercy, I still hope He will allow me to see the culmination of His plan in this little boy's life.