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.