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.