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.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Thursday, October 10, 2013
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 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.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
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:
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.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
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 . . .
Monday, September 16, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
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.
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.
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