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.  







   

The Insecurity of Shame

I have been trying to read Jeremiah this summer. It has held some beautiful truths for my spirit.  I have read Jeremiah before, but I obviously missed the point.  I was much younger then and know I saw the world through a different lens than I do now.  I love that about the Bible; it speaks to us in all of our life experiences, and it "reads" differently to our soul as we journey.  It is not just a story, but a book that speaks to our hearts, a gift from our Savior.

So, yesterday, I started reading chapter 32.  It was titled Jeremiah Buys a Field During the Siege.  "Wow! That sounds interesting."  And, I didn't really mean that.  Jeremiah ranting about the sins of God's children, Israel:  Jeremiah giving amazing and scary images of God's wrath:  Jeremiah standing up to those who would oppose him and bear false witness.  Those were exciting chapters. But, Jeremiah buys a field?  I was pretty much preparing for a snoozer.

Then, I started reading (and I hope I get the history right).  God's warnings were coming true.  Jerusalem was about to be overtaken by Babylon.  Exile from Jerusalem for God's people was imminent. They were about to get what they deserved by continuing to ignore their Maker.  And, then Jeremiah hears a word from the Lord:  Go and buy a field.  That seems unreasonable.  A waste of money.  Why would you buy a field when the enemy was set to overtake you, when you may never see the fruit of this work?

And, the Bible does not ignore Jeremiah's reservations.  God sends a "sign" to Jeremiah:  one of his cousins shows up and tells him he is giving him the right to buy his field. He stands in front of witnesses and all of the Judeans and makes the purchase, at God's command, knowing that many of them likely question his sanity.  And, after he followed through with God's command,  he prayed to the Lord for clarity, saying "Nothing is too hard for you", but really God? This doesn't make sense to me (italics are my made-up symbol for a paraphrase).

The Lord's response is beautiful.  It starts by saying, "Behold, I am the Lord, the God of all flesh. Is anything too hard for me?"  He continues to recount Israel's disobedience and need for discipline.  But, then he changes.  He promises that once the time of exile is over, he will restore them.  God says, "I will bring them back to this place, and I will make them dwell in safety.  And they shall by my people, and I will be their God."  And, his beautiful promises continue through several more chapters.  A story of love and relationship that comes from seeing God sustain.


I don't want to intimate in any way that we are like Jeremiah.  He is a prophet, prepared for a special time in the making of God's beautiful story of wrath and redemption, that culminates at the coming of Christ.  But, this season has made me understand a bit more clearly how Jeremiah must have felt buying a field that seemingly had no value.

There is a great deal of discussion about ethics in adoption in the DRC.  Our case, along with other cases, is tied up in lengthy investigations that often raise more question marks than answers.  We have showers, make flights, pack suitcases--only to be stalled for months.  And, we (meaning, I) have chosen to go through this process publicly, because I honestly make sense of things by writing and because I like to be social. And, because somewhere amidst all of those selfish emotions, I hope God get the glory in our story. (my husband honestly just suffers through this public display because he loves me)

This chapter illuminated for me one emotion I have not fully tapped: that of doing something, seemingly foolish, in front of a group of witnesses, who honestly are the people I care most about.  When we have been disappointed, and surprised, and overwhelmed, I feel the weight of that.  But, I have also noticed another emotion creeping up that colors my perspective more than I would like: shame.  What if we go through this whole thing and end up looking stupid, duped, naive?

Shame is not from God, though.  Shame is a lack of trust in God.  At the beginning of this journey, a friend who has gone through adoption told me that God will be working behind the scenes in ways I could never understand until I see them play out. I am starting to see small glimpses of that, where what I first expected to be the case is not the case at all. Where the Lord planted a desire in my heart, and it is coming to fruition, but never how I had once imagined. Where first I had to step out in what seemed like ignorant and blind obedience to see Him.  Where there is lots of pain before the promise.

In the Lord's beautiful response to Jeremiah, he says, "I will give them one heart and one way, that they may fear me forever, for their own good and the good of their children after them.  I will make with them an everlasting covenant, that I will not turn away from doing good to them.  And I will put the fear of me in their hearts, that they may not turn from me.  I will rejoice in doing them good., and I will plant them in this land in faithfulness, with all my heart and all my soul."

Oh, the promises of God for those who love Him, for those who suffer His discipline in restoration, for those who step out in obedience, even at the cost of appearing a fool. I cling to them. They're really all I've got. Shame cannot stand if we truly believe in God's promises.  So, where I do not believe them, I confess my weakness, and I ask the Lord to plant me in the land of His faithfulness.