With A Thankful Heart

My heart has been overflowing with thanks lately.

There are so many people: family, friends, pastors, small group members, neighbors, complete strangers, casual acquaintances, divinely appointed run-ins, etc. that I owe a great deal of thanks to.  To be sure, I thank God for each of you daily.  I cannot even begin to name names, because it is probably each and every person reading this and then some.  However, every one has played a part in the transformation that continues to occur in our hearts and in our family.  The undeserved love, support, encouragement, discipling, and accountability that so many of you have shown me and my family over the past few years humbles me and reminds me each day that God intends for us to work not only individually, but communally.  In fact, I believe God intends way more of the latter and less of the former.  It is because of our wonderful community, locally, virtually, and globally, that we have been able, to the best of our abilities, to be faithful to God's will for our lives.  Without that love and support, we probably would have been frozen at the starting gate...fearful to take that first step.

However, with your love and support, we can continually tell God, "Bring it!  Send us!  Pick me!"  For that, we are extremely grateful and thankful to each of you.  I sincerely mean that.  I know that without your love and encouragement, our family would look completely different.  And, if our (imperfect, flawed, goofy, quirky) family encourages just one person to step out of her or his comfort zone and say, "If they can do it, so can I" my heart will be content.  To be honest though, I wish that many more people would step out of their boats and into the wind and waves with Jesus.  The world is so very broken, desperately hurting, and in urgent need of Good News.  The Good News that Jesus himself demonstrated in the flesh and asks each of His followers to embody for the world.  It is so much fun out here, friends!  It's a messy kind of fun where you are not sure where you are going, but absolutely know you are on the right path.  That is my wish for each and every one of you.  That you ask God how God wants to use your life and then allow him to do so.  Just as you have all encouraged us, I guarantee you that others, including myself, will flock to your side to cheer you on.  Pinky promise!

I want to thank all of you, for helping me realize that my purpose in life has nothing to do with me and everything to do with God and God's will and intent for my life and the life of each person in our home.  From the depths of my heart, I would like to thank, in no particular order: family and friends, prayer warriors, justice supporters, be-the-church folks, do-the-gospel folks, garage-sale organizers, clothing and item donators, local church leaders and friends, rambling-phone-call-listeners,  local homeless friends, 24-7 adoption community support networks, seminary professors and community, jokesters, live-in-the-mintuers, dive into the Worders, etc. etc.

To be honest, I am not completely sure where God is taking us in this next chapter, but am happy to be at cruising altitude for the time being.  We are cruising with a full plate and frequent turbulence; yet, God still whispers, "Be prepared.  You are on the journey of your life!"  What I do know for certain is that we are not the same people we were just three short years ago.  God stretched and pruned and refined and grew us into new creations who are on a mission, God's mission, to use each and every day to the fullest for God's glory. We are all created by God and for God, and it's only in God and God's purpose for our lives that each of us will find the peace we so desperately seek.

I love each of you.  Thank you so much for being part of our lives and sharing yourself with us.  Now, if anyone is free to help me paint our living room this weekend, please let me know.  Food and beverage will be provided.  :-)

"By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another." -John 13:35

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Deemed An Unfit Parent

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This should have come as no surprise.  They found me unfit.

I knew the "rules" and I had broken them.  Most people do break them, you know.  However, some maintain proper documentation while breaking the "rules" and I, on the other hand, let my paperwork expire years ago.  Many years ago.  On purpose, for that matter.  Their so-called "rules" seemed silly to me.  Not all of the "rules", to be sure, and I certainly did not find the people silly.  I loved the people.  The institution, however, rubbed me the wrong way.  So, I did what many have since chosen to do and left in search of a different expression.  But either way, I broke the rules, my papers expired, and for that, they deemed me unfit.

Really though, this should not have come as a surprise in the least.  I know how they operate.  I could have produced 'falsified' documents as many, many do but that is not my style.  What would be the point?  My own mother, who had faithfully followed all of the "rules" up until her final days on earth was nearly deemed unfit for a "proper burial."  The Roman Catholic church where she devoted her entire adult life almost denied her the necessary "flags" to enter the cemetery where she was to be buried when they found out {GASP!!} that a Methodist hospice minister...and a woman at that...would be conducting her funeral {hold your breath} outside of a Catholic church.  In the days following my mother's death, I actually listened as the Catholic priest yelled at the funeral director (unbiased third party) for allowing a non-Catholic woman to conduct the funeral.  How sad.  How very, very sad.

So, when the Catholic church told my sister that I was unfit to become my nephew's Godmother at his baptism, although being very upset, I was not surprised.  Never mind that I have devoted my life to Christ and seek to follow in Christ's footsteps in thought, word, and deed on a daily basis.  Never mind that practicality.  The Catholic church wanted a letter stating that I was a practicing Catholic.

Soapbox Alert: What I wanted was a letter from the Catholic church telling me what exactly a practicing Catholic looks like.  New flash:  your practicing Catholics very well might not be practicing Catholics.  BUT, they have a letter and I don't.) 

Well, unless a letter from 1995 counts, I am out of the running.  Would a letter from my seminary count?  How about a letter from the pastor of my current church?  What if I provided a document detailing my sacramental theology?  N.O.P.E.  None of that will work, silly girl.  It's Catholic or bust, don't you remember?  Oh, right...how could I forget?!  

Honestly though, this doesn't make me angry as much as it makes me sad.  The Body of Christ, that is,  all Christians in the church universal, is supposed to operate collectively.  We are supposed to be one body in this world.  Yet, we are fragmented from here to the moon...and back.  And because of that, our impact in the world is lessened.  No, even more than that, because of our fragmented organization and broken body, we are neglecting to bring the full force of God's kingdom to earth.  Our energy and loyalty is divided.  We often care more about being right than being love.  Could you imagine what we could accomplish if we were to set aside our polity, politics, and differences in interpretation and instead choose to incarnate Christ in the world?  Can you imagine?  What a difference we could make.

If Jesus was here today, would he really care about a piece of paper or would he just want me to profess my commitment to him and to care for this child in the event that his parents could not.  When looked at that way, can we possibly see why so many are choosing to leave mainline denominations or the church in general?  If we can't get our act together internally (and collectively), how on earth (literally) are others supposed to find Christ in us?  I pray that we, the church, realize the potential and beauty in unity and diversity.  Our differences can actually make us stronger and more unified, if we could just learn to appreciate them and embrace them.  There is only one God, right?  Paul hits this topic dead-on in his letter to the church in Ephesus.  Perhaps the church today, more than ever, needs this reminder...

Ephesians 4: 3-7

Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.  There is one body and one Spirit just as you were called to one hope when you were called;  one Lord, one faith, one baptism;  one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.  But to each one of us grace has been given as Christ apportioned it. 

Through Her Lens

She has a smile that lights up the room.  Her joy emanates and her spirit is contagious.  She is smart and strong and witty and funny.  She loves Jesus.  She shows me Jesus.  Through her, I have come to know Jesus more intimately.  She is my gift.

Often times, I get lost in her beautiful brown eyes while thanking God for choosing me, for allowing me to be Sassy's mama.

She carries deep scars.  Scars that her smile and fun loving personality go to great lengths to mask.  And yet, she is only three years old.  Some experts try to tell us that young children will forget their early childhood trauma, but I simply do not accept that.  No, actually I flat out reject that idea.  Her scars are simply woven into her fabric and while God redeems hurts and helps us to grieve forward, some scars become part of one's identity.

But there is someone else that also carries deep scars.  A nameless, faceless person I will probably never meet this side of heaven.  A person I pray for daily and think of often.  I was reminded of that person the other night.

While watching Downton Abbey {Spoiler Alert: stop reading if you have not watched Season 3, Episode 4!} and seeing/feeling/sensing Ethel go through the painful and heart wrenching process of deciding to give up her baby boy, Charlie, for adoption and therefore come to terms with the fact she will never see him again, I simply lost it.  Lost! It!  I pictured this same scene unfolding in a tiny town in southern Ethiopia.  I imagined a person who loved her/his child so very much, who had tried her/his best to love and take care of a child, but simply could not provide for very basic needs.  I imagined this person dropping off their child on the streets, a child who was old enough to walk, and then running safely out of sight before crumpling the ground in tears, weighted down with pain, shame, sorrow, and guilt.

No parent or guardian should ever be forced to make that horrid decision, and yet so many are forced to make that exact decision every day.  Why?  Poverty, injustice, oppression, curable and treatable illnesses, and lack of support systems to name just a few.  That is the lens I often view adoption from.  Through the eyes of the person forced to make an unthinkable decision.  Perhaps that seems depressing, but it is true.  That is reality.  Adoption would not be necessary on the scale it is today if we (humanity) cared enough about each other to correct major flaws in our global systems.  But we would rather carry on with the busyness and distractions in our lives that keep us from addressing some very real needs in our world.

So, when people say our children are "lucky" or "blessed",  I certainly understand their sentiment and agree that yes, our children certainly are lucky to have safely arrived to her new family, with the hope of brighter future.  However, I think many fail to recognize that in order for adoption to be necessary, something went seriously wrong on the other side of the equation.  No parent should ever have to make the decision to give up her child.  None.  There was no "luck" going on there, that is for sure.  Only pain, hopelessness, despair, grief, etc., etc.   There was a woman or man so very desperate that they could think of nothing better to do than to abandon a child on the streets.  Could you imagine?  I cannot.  But praise God for opening our eyes to the layers of wrong in our world.  Praise God.  Their fights are now our fights.  Their hurts, ours.  Their pain, our pain.  We grieve and grow forward, embracing God's plan for our lives while never, not for one second, forgetting the truth.

God speaks through our children's past tragedies to show us his unfailing love, mercy, and compassion.  We are blessed, we are the lucky ones.  If there is any luck going on at all in this scenario it is that our lives have been gloriously wrecked and forever altered by joining God on his mission to care for the fatherless and seek justice.  It is that through our journeys into God's heart, God has given us a purpose and direction that would have been missed had we forfeited the opportunity to grow our family through adoption.

But what about you?  Have you figured out what God's purpose if for this chapter in your life?  What is God asking you to do?  Viewing the world through whose lens breaks your heart?  The orphan? The widow?  The recovering addict?  The homebound?  The sick?  What it is?  Join God there.  Say yes.

I'll close with one question and I pray that you spend time in prayer and reflection thinking about this:
Why do you think God has given you more than you need? 

Leviticus 19:9
"When you reap the harvest of your land, do not reap to the very edgesof your field or gather the gleanings of your harvest.  Do not go over your vineyard a second time or pick up the grapes that have fallen. Leave them for the poor and the foreigner. I am the Lord your God."

I Guess This Is Home?!

When you spend nearly a decade moving around, chasing opportunities and following where the military leads, it is a strange feeling to finally look at a house and for the first time as an adult realize that this house, this neighborhood, this church family, this community, this school system, soccer team, etc. is not just another house or neighborhood, but rather our home.  So strange in fact, that it took me over two years to finally accept that were indeed home and to start putting down roots.  Even then, I didn't let myself grow too attached because I knew that at any moment I could hear my spouse utter those words, "Hey, there is this great opportunity....in Bangladesh."  Or something like that.  Some of you know exactly what I am talking about.  It could come at any time, so we dare let ourselves get too comfortable, too attached.  

Just recently, after being in our current home for nearly five years and settling in nicely in all areas, he came home with the news.  The words.  The words that bring great anticipation, a little fear, and whole lot of questions.  The opportunity, praise God, was not in Bangladesh.  It would be a good career opportunity.  It would be on the water.  (We both love the idea of living on the water.)  It would be a little closer to extended family.  It would be exciting.  We initially agreed to to throw our hat in the ring.  Why not?  What do we have to lose?  

Then, panic set in.  We can't do this.  Big Sister just arrived.  Larry is starting Kindergarten.  Sporty is excelling in and out of the classroom.  I am in my second year of Seminary and have never been so passionate about working toward God's purpose in our lives.  We love our entire community.  Our village.    

Then, reality set in.  Accompanied by a mix of emotions.  It is not just the two of us.  There is so much more to our family these days.  The 'opportunity' would not have the cultural resources that we cherish here.  It would not have the excellent soccer coaches and training opportunities.  It would not be close to my school.  It would not have our current community, our church.  It would not have an acclaimed and globally diverse school system.  It would be overly white.  It would be too much of a risk.  We couldn't do it.  For the first time ever, we would be letting the so-called opportunity pass.  And we were at peace.  Because God does not call us to chase opportunity, he calls us to chase him.  

In the years following undergrad, some friends would joke that I lived out of a Uhaul.  That was actually fairly accurate.  A few months in one location, a few years in another.  The only plan was to go where the next door opened.  It is a strange way to live, but it was familiar and I enjoyed the thrill.  Then, my path crossed that of my future husband.  Another Uhaul resident.  We were married within a year (crazy, I know) and continued the follow open doors and God's calling.  It was easier to do before children arrived and I thank God for those years of adventure.   

Years ago, I had a friend tell me that his family was no longer "Light Infantry", but rather an entire "Mechanized Armor Division."  At the time he told me this, I could have been considered a "Military Scout."  It was just me, with not a care in the world.  Now, I completely understand those words, because they are how I feel most days.  We are no longer just two people united in marriage, but rather part of God's interweaving of people and places.  Boots and a backpack don't really cut it these days.  There are so many moving parts to consider.  And sometimes the opportunity is right where we are.  No Uhauls needed.  It still sounds strange to say this, but we are home! 

...at least until the Lord tells us to move! 

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. -Proverbs 3:5-7

Adoption: A Beginning, Not The End State

This morning at worship, our pastor asked how things were going with Big Sister and the overall transition.  I said things were going well, that transitions are of course stressful, and that it was amazing to be able to witness the healing taking place.  The brief dialogue made me reflect on the bigger picture of adoption, one that we might not think about during the hectic paper-chase stage, the painful stage of waiting for our child or children to come home, or the euphoric homecoming and honeymoon period.  In the bigger picture, the one which led us to adoption in the first place, we adopt...we choose love...because we were adopted and loved first.  Adoption is a story of redemption, of healing, of taking broken things and making them whole.  In short, adoption is the story of Christianity.  While the completion of an adoption might very well feel like crossing the finish line, the truth is that another race begins almost immediately.  

I hope you take some time to catch your breath at the finish line, re-hydrate, and prayerfully prepare for the marathon of redemption and healing that lies ahead, which you will take an active role in and in the process be transformed yourself.  It is a very painful journey, have no doubt, on in which you will cling to your Savior like never before, but also a journey in which you will actively witness and bear witness to God's healing and redemptive power in a broken world.  During this marathon of your new life, God may very well open your eyes to bigger and more painful issues.  At least, that is what happened to our family.  Those same issues and injustices that necessitated adoption are now painfully and joyfully interwoven into the fabric of our family.  As I have said before, I do not believe adoption is God's "Plan A" for children.  And while adoption may very well be a family's Plan A for adding children, praise God, the mere fact that children need to be adopted points to issues much larger than a child being placed into family.  While God's hand is certainly all over that entire matching process (as our house full of dynamic and unique personalities can attest),  I believe that God uses adoption to point our heart toward the underlying injustices, the abuses of position and power, and the way in which the church is or is not responding to the least of these.  Adoption is not an end state, it is a new beginning!  Not just for your child or children, but for every person involved in your own adoption journey.  

I pray that those words resonate in your heart and that you allow God to open to your eyes to whatever issues God chooses.  For those of us with adopted children at home, we understand that each child's brokenness is not the same.  Some have dealt with physical abuse, some with sexual abuse, others with neglect and abandonment, some with simply the absence of a loving and caring presence.  Others may have had all the love in the world but not enough resources to feed, clothe, and educate.  However, underneath all of these issues there is another layer.  Again, the injustices that are rampant in our world leave a fertile breeding ground for these superficial fleshy issues to take over.  And take over they do.  Whatever issues our child has faced or dealt with, I believe, are now the issues woven into our family.  How can I pretend I do not know?  I can't.  This truth has gloriously wrecked my life, praise God! 

The apostle Paul, in 2 Corinthians 6:18 tells us, "I will be a Father to you, and you will be my sons and daughters, says the Lord Almighty."  Like an earthly father, our heavenly Father does not just give us new life and then depart.  What would happen to a newborn baby left at the hospital without loving care and subsistence?  Our God stays with us, guiding and correcting, teaching and growing us.  And so it is with adoption.  Just as our heavenly Father adopted each of us into his family, when we adopt a son or daughter into our family and assume all parental roles and responsibilities, God walks along side of us, using our flawed bodies and minds to bring healing and redemption to another human being.  God heals!  If you don't believe me, pop in any day of week and witness God's work in his children.  If you read their life stories, you would expect them to be broken beyond repair.  If you read their life stories through the eyes of God, you would understand that God has beautiful plans for all of his children.  However in a broken and unjust world, we cannot sit back and expect God to pour miracles from the sky.  We, brothers and sisters in Christ, ARE the miracles and are to be the miracles to others bringing God's story of hope and redemption to the world.  

As such, I hope that each of you along this wonderful and wonderfully challenging road, begin to see adoption not as an end state to be reached but as a lifelong journey.  While your homecoming day will certainly be remembered and celebrated for the rest of your lives, as it should be, I believe there is more to the story.  There is more to our story and there is more to yours. 

What else is God trying to teach us?  Where does God expect us to go from here?  How could God be using adoption to transform our own hearts...weeding out self-severing tendencies?  What does God want us to see?  What does God want us to do?

Those are just some questions bouncing around my mind.  How has God used your adoption journey to open your eyes to other issues?  

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Voices In Her Head

I have found that one of most amazing blessings of adopting older children is their ability to communicate past experiences...that is, once we find the correct key that unlocks their trust door.  

Finding that key can be a bit tricky, but I have found success by simply making myself available...physically, spiritually, emotionally, and mentally...to my children.  This doesn't have to consume twenty-four hours a day (sometimes a mere fifteen minutes of dedicated energy does the trick) but rather just needs to present itself in an authentic way to the child.  My children need to know I am for real.  That my love and role of mother is for real.  I need to assure and reassure them that I will be a rock in their lives, regardless of circumstances.  That even though I am far from perfect and filled with parental flaws, they can count of me to be there for them...to have their back...and to always advocate for their best interests.  Once they start to feel secure, the trust door begins to open and the things revealed are both horrific and healing.  

Sporty and Big Sister have been given such a special gift.  Both children are able to communicate not only the circumstances surrounding their past, but also paint a vivid picture of their emotions connected to those experiences.  Both children are incredibly empathetic and able to tune into the emotions of those around them, including me, their mom.  Sometimes, the conditions of our home and everyone's temperament at a given much are just so, and my children let their guards down and want to discuss anything and everything.  Last night was one of those special occasions with Big Sister.  

In my grief post, I talked about one of the various faces grief can wear.  There are more layers to grief than layers in an onion, but digging in and reaching back to pivotal crisis moments have helped open up discussion in our home.  Big Sister has told me a number of times that sometimes when she goes to sleep at night, a "big, bad, scary man appears in her doorway".  She mimes a bear-like figure with a scary face to show me what he looks like.  I knew that sleeping in a new and quiet bedroom would initially be scary, as she was accustomed to many other people sleeping in close vicinity, so we talked about ways to deal with the "scary man" image and I reassured her that he was not real.  We talked about the power of prayer, the evil one, and the fact that she is always able to come down the hall and into my bedroom, should she ever be scared.  

Last night, she added a few key details to her story and now, praise God, I have a more complete picture of the scary man.  This image represented a very real person to her and as such shows up only when she was feeling sad, insecure, and alone.  He represented a person who had done a lot of damage, a lot of tearing down, who wrecked her trust, and who proved to be a person capable of harm.  Big Sister went on to tell me some incredibly sad stories and even let me know what the scary man was telling her to do when he appeared.  She trusted me enough to tell me what was going on...even if just in her imagination.  Though she risked humiliation or worse...as her past experiences have taught her.  She trusted me!    And I hope I responded in a way that moves us forward.  Toward healing built upon trust.  When I speak about how adoption is all about God, this was one of those moments so much bigger than myself.  So much bigger than psychology or counseling, not that professional help isn't a valuable tool, it certainly is.  God is just so much bigger and I promise you, shows up in ways you could never plan.  Anyway, I told Big Sister that the scary man is not welcome in this house and should he appear, she is allowed to scream, "Get out of here!!!" at the top of her lungs for all I care.  Heck, I will scream it with her if that seems to be of any help.  We can even shoot him with our homemade marshmallow guns if that lightens the mood.  We talked about the things scary man was telling her.  I was able to reassure he that this is a house where although not perfect, no one will ever physically harm another.  Harm, whether physical or emotional, is not part of God's desire or plan for any relationship.  

We grieve forward.  

What was truly amazing to me was learning about the special people God put in her path during her time at the orphanage.  That, I learned, is where she learned how to pray.  Where a very special woman took the time to teach her the power of prayer and the good desires God has for his children.  Big Sister told me that whenever she prays, the scary man goes away.  As she said those words, I was reminded of the words my own my mother said to me when I used to get scared.  Almost identical teaching moments.  I was able to pass along some of my mother's wisdom for praying away these sorts of situations and both Big Sister and I seemed to be at peace.  And, as our Living God may have it, it was a very special women...at an orphanage...who taught my mom how to pray.  While I would never believe that God wants any harm to fall on any of his children, I was reminded once again of Romans 8:28 that says, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."  

As I am continually reminded, there are many voices speaking to our children.  (There are many voices speaking to all of us, to be sure!)  Voices from the past, voices from the present, voices from heaven, and voices from the evil one.  Good voices, bad voices, voices that build up, and voices that tear down.  Big Sister has even beautifully articulated what this sounds like to her, and I am so thankful for this gift.  She told me last night that when she is happy, when she allows herself to be vulnerable and trust, a voice in her head says, "No. Be sad. Be sad. Be sad. Don't be happy."  Another voice, possibly mimicking the fight or flight response her body is producing with all of this newness tells her repeatedly, "E-tee-opia, go!  E-tee-opia, go!  Must go...E-tee-opia."  And yet, the still voice of God presents itself in the smile that is starting to come easy.  The voice that allows her to let her guards down at all.  The voice that tells her to trust me, her mother.  It presents itself in those moments, when although I can't put my finger on exactly what is different, I know things are, in fact, different.  

We are grieving forward, rising from the ashes. 

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Righteous Sinners

Something has really been irking me.  It's the same something that has irked me during political  campaigns for years.  It is the same something that irks me when evil pits us against one another, divides our human race, and even (sometimes even more so) divides those of us who are supposed to be united in Christ.  It is the something that irks me when I see hate and slander thrown around on social media, because let's face it, it is easier to throw up a nasty post, most of the time not even an original thought but just "shared" hate, than it is to actually do something helpful and healing with our energy.  

That same energy used to cause divisions and break people down could instead be used to unite and build up.  Energy is a limited resource.  How do you choose to use it?  

Why choose hate, when it feels so much better for the giver and receiver to choose love.  Even when you disagree.  Even when you hold differing political beliefs.  Even when you practice different faiths.  Even when you are absolutely certain you are right.  Let me ask you this...and this is something I ask myself a lot when I feel self-righteousness creeping in...what good will it do you, the other person, or humanity to be right?  I have found that usually it is better to be humble and quiet than it is is to be loud and right.  After all, what does it mean to be right anyway?  

Personally, I don't want to be right.  I do, however, want to be righteous.  In wanting to be righteous, there is one big problem.  A huge blockage, in fact.  On my own, I cannot and will not ever be righteous. Never ever ever ever.  Impossible.  It does not matter how many children we adopt, how many widows or orphans we sponsor, how many Bible studies we attend, how many church and community events we have volunteered for, or how many causes we support.  Does not matter.  On my own, I can never be righteous.  

One of the basic themes of the Christian faith is that we are all sinners.  Every last one of us.  Now, I know there are many of you who probably do not like that word: sinner.  To be honest, I was trying to think of a way to write this post without using it, but I would miss the mark if I tried.  I think many of us don't like the word sinner because too many religious institutions and/or religious leaders have used it to point a finger in somebody else's face, individually a person or a group of people, and call out their sins.  The word, unfortunately, has been used to shame other people.  To make other people feel not worthy and perhaps, to try to make themselves feel better.  To religious leaders who do this, who take a holier than thou approach, I would have to say, "Look. In. The. Mirror."  Just because we sin differently, does not change the fact that we are all sinners.  That is, we have have things in our life that create distance from God.  Some estimates point to over 600 'sins' listed in the Bible.  I can guarantee you, we all wear something on the list.  Arrogance?  Vain babbling?  Lust?  Fear?  Unforgiving?  Not loving your enemy?  

Which brings me to Jesus.  The entire point of my Christian faith.  We live in a very broken, very hurt, fallen world.  Things are not as they were meant to be because of our separation from God.  Jesus, through putting on flesh, walking among us, teaching us how to love another, and ultimately sacrificing his life so that we my gain life eternal, was the fix for our sin.  The ultimate fix.  He did what we cannot or will ever be able to do on our own.  

One the key themes of the Protestant Reformation in the 16th Century (when Martin Luther and others sought to break away from the Roman Catholic Church) is that we are justified (or made right) by grace through faith.  Simply put, there is no action or deed good enough to make us righteous in our fallen world.  Conversely, there is no action or deed bad enough that could separate us from Christ's love.  When we receive Christ we become, simultaneously, sinners and righteous.  Simul justus et peccator.  My seminary professor gave an excellent illustration of this concept by having a student come to the front of the room.  First, the student stood there simply clothed in the shirt and pants he was wearing.  Then, she handed him a coat.  As he put on the coat, she explained that the coat stands for Christ's righteousness.  The righteousness remains outside of the believer.  Underneath the coat, we are all sinners.  However, when we wear Christ, his righteousness covers us.  Simul justus et peccator.  Both sinner and saint.  Not one or the other, yet simultaneously both.  

If we are all sinners, which at least the Christians among us will agree, then there should be no need to point fingers at someone else.  There should be no need to pretend you and I are not sinners.  There should be no need to pretend that my or your sin are less than the sins of others.  There should be no need, or for that matter time, for angry words, hate talk, finger pointing, chicken-sandwich-line-to-make-a-point-waiting, or self-righteous attitudes and behaviors.  Our job as Christians, when dealing with and relating to other people, as Jesus told us, was to love others the way he loved us.  That's it.  In my opinion, if we truly want others to experience the joy and peace that comes with an indwelling of the holy spirit, we need to seriously reexamine our strategies and tactics.  

Does that mean we cannot have deeply held convictions or beliefs?  Of course not.  Does that we cannot support a political party or candidate?  No, it does not.  Does that mean we should keep silent when there is injustice in the world.  Absolutely not.  Does loving others mean that we have to agree with anything about them that we may not agree with?  No...keeping in mind that the other person does not need to agree with your disagreement about them either.  (See how that works?)  What it means to me is that if I dress myself every day in Christ's righteousness, then my thoughts and speech will be grace-filled.  My actions will be loving and instead of seeking to be right, I will seek to understand others.  Instead of trying to convince myself that my sin is less than your sin, I will overflow with the love and mercy that has been given to me (undeserved) in abundance.  Truth being told, while seemingly simple, this is difficult and not natural, because again in our fallen sin state, we are all tempted to want to be right or prove a point.  But where does that land us?  Divided, unhappy, unfulfilled, and certainly not working together to grow the kingdom.  

So, the next time I am tempted to point my finger in the direction of another......

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I will instead point my finger in the direction of the one who has credited his righteousness to me so that I may think and speak in ways that are pleasing in his sight.  I challenge you to do the same.   

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The following words spoken by John Wesley, have been resonating in my mind: "Though we cannot think alike, may we not love alike?  May we not be of one heart, though we are not of one opinion?  Without all doubt, we may.  Herein all the children of God may unite, notwithstanding these smaller differences."  I pray that we can all let those words sink in and then put them into practice.  I honestly see no other way forward.  

One Month Home

Only God!


Only God can take a hesitant, unsure (albeit beautiful) smile such as this:

And turn it into this easy, big, and confident smile in one month's time:

Seriously, look at that huge grin!  I love it.  (What you cannot see in this picture...what caused her to grin from ear to ear...was the seeing my high school and college graduation photos at my parent's house.  No, I will not post those.  Ha!  (Friends, you may never realize how much some children value the opportunity and access to a good education!  Big Sister talks about school every day.  She is nervous, but oh so excited!)  It never ceases to amaze me how quickly healing and bonding can come, once we...the have's...respond to God's call to care for the have not's.  If you are feeling the tug, please do. not. be. scared!  Of course, it is far from easy...and some transitions are way more difficult than others, but man...we are no where near the place we landed one month ago.  Just looking at that big smile reassures me that me are making progress.

I cannot believe how much has been accomplished.  God is on the move, no doubt!  Here are some highlights from our first month home:

• Learned to ride a bike.  Mastered riding a bike.  
• Learned to swim.  Is confident enough in the water to venture into the deep end of the pool.
• Her English is improving rapidly.  She reads and does schoolwork for a few hours each day.  Most nights, I have to turn off her bedroom light so that she stops reading and goes to sleep.
• She is assimilating well into our family and culture. She picks up on social cues and responds accordingly.  Please and thank you and excuse me are spoken easily and with confidence.
• We have had one tooth pulled, one cavity filled and sealed, and spaces put in to allow for braces to be put on.
• We are caught up on all vaccines and are "paper ready" for school. We are registered to begin classes in the Fall.
• We have completed Grades 1, 2, and 3 summer course work for math (and some English) and hope to complete Grade 4 in August.  
• She has bonded with all members of our family and Sporty has taken her under his wing to include her in all neighborhood social activities.  
• She has made American friends and Ethiopian-American friends.  She loves being social.
• She is engaged in her Sunday School class and has attended VBS willingly and happily.  
• She trusts me to comfort and reassure her.  She allows me to mother and nurture her.
• She has a good relationship with her father.  
• She is an amazing big sister to all of the Littles.  She is loving and kind and nurturing.
• She jumps right in with household duties without being asked.
• She has been a special gift to our family each and every day! 

In short, things are moving along quite nicely.  We have grief and a hurt past to contend with, but I feel God moving us all forward to bigger and better plans.  We have been so blessed by her presence in our home that it is nearly impossible for me to remember what life was like before she arrived.  

Father God, thank you for trusting us.  For trusting us in our imperfect selves to parent and love your children.  Even when we don't think we are up for the challenge, you are always there to comfort, reassure, and guide our steps.  I cannot imagine what life would be like had we not realized that our purpose in this life was never about us.  That our purpose was to serve you by loving others the way you loved us.  Please continue to provide all that we need to get through each day and help keep our eyes set on you and working toward your purpose on our lives.  We love you!  We trust you!  We thank you!  

Keep us keepin' on...we know it is all about you!

A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. 

-Psalm 68:5

Things Revealed

There have been a number of times in my life where a certain thought, idea, or feeling popped up, seemingly out of nowhere, and implanted itself deep inside, not willing to budge or to be challenged.  "I am true," the silent idea seemed to echo....  

Where did this idea come from?  Who put it there?  Why am I so certain this idea is true, when there may be no logical explanation for it?  

Those are some of the questions I tend to throw back at the intangible idea that is now ingrained deep within my person.  Sometimes I try to deny it, rationalize it away, or tell myself I am just letting my imagination run wild.  Sometimes, my imagination may be running wild.  However, at other times I have no doubt God placed this truth in my mind and in my heart for his glory.  The truth is just so loud and perfectly timed and peaceful that I know it comes from my heavenly father.  

Have you ever had a truth revealed to you in a such a way that it would be nearly impossible for anybody to tell you otherwise?  


Francis Bacon once said, "Knowledge is the rich storehouse for they glory of the Creator and the relief of man's estates."  Sometimes knowledge is gained through traditional avenues such as education, training, and/or experience.  Sometimes, God simply imparts it.  Either way, I think it is important to recognize, as Bacon did, that knowledge is for the glory of the Creator.  


Months before coming home with Big Sister, I began to sense God trying to direct my attention to her bedroom.  Then, the revelation hit.  I saw it.  I felt it.  I could see and sense what God was trying to prepare me for.  I have even shared this story with some of you before she arrived home.  Big Sister would be hurting and scared, that was certain.  I saw her (not physically, but this is what I felt as revealed truth) sitting on her bed crying.  The giver of truth let me know this would be happening quite frequently.  I shook my head in agreement and prayed for wisdom and discernment.  I understood not to be overly concerned when she wanted to retreat to her room, but to be cognizant of her emotions and check on her frequently.  She needed to know that I was there and I cared.  She needed to know I would not abandon.  Note: this particular scenario did not happen with Sporty or Sassy.  There were distinct revealed truths for each of them, to be sure...but nothing having to do with wanting to be alone. 


For the first two to three weeks after arriving home, we were all enjoying the Honeymoon.  Everyone was on the their best behavior, wearing big smiles, and celebrating a whole bunch of firsts.  Everything was smooth sailing.  Almost too easy, to be honest.  One night, I voiced just how easy things were going to my husband.  (To which he shook his head at me like I was crazy and said something along the sarcastic lines of 'why don't we add five more?!')  The very next day, things were no longer so easy.  Ha!  God, your timing is hilarious.  I get it...you are in control and I should learn to keep my mouth shut.  :-)  Adoption and orphan care is never easy.  It's always messy.  I should have known better.  


Regardless, just as God prepared me and showed what would be happening, Big Sister has been wanting to retreat to her room a lot.  She can be easily overwhelmed and I know is hurting deeply.  She hides it well on the surface, but I know the truth.  She is scared and she feels alone.  Sometimes her eyes look so distant.  When she feels overwhelmed, she goes to her room, locks the door, and cries on her bed.  She reads and writes and processes.  I go to check on her frequently.  I encourage her to come out and join in, but don't force the issue.  Too much is already out of her control.  She is out of her room enough during the day, getting exercise, eating healthy, playing, and engaged with the family.  So, I am not overly concerned.  I would probably be more concerned had God not given me the peaceful reassurance that this would be happening.  Everyone else in our home needs to be bribed or coerced in order to retreat to his or her room, so this is a new experience for all of us. 


I can only wonder what must be going through her mind.  What she is feeling.  How alone she must feel at times, even though she is surrounded by the love of a noisy child-filled home.  Orphan care is messy indeed.

I don't completely understand the in's and out's of how God communicates with us, how God reveals his will.  I am not sure anyone does, but I have learned that his communication is always peaceful.  Never anxious or fear-filled.  His message is firm and reassuring, like a parent  encouraging a child, "You can do it!"  I have also learned that it is hard to hear God's still, quiet voice when my noisy, rambling thoughts are left to run free.  I must silence my own fears, my own thoughts, and simply rely on my Father's guidance.  


Of course, there are times when I would love to see the big picture.  There are times, plenty of times, when I want more information than God is willing to give, but I know God knows me better than I know myself and wanting what is best for me, simply supplies what is needed in the present.  For now, I know that I have a hurting child who needs me to be present.  My marching orders were quite simple:  Show up.  Be present.  Love big.  Mainly, don't forget to show up.  


Isn't that what we are all called to do?  Really, it can be that simple at times.  Show up and allow God to work through us.  But don't forget to show up!  


I love the Old Testament book Daniel.  I find it quite fascinating on many levels.  In the second chapter, Daniel is praising God for revealing the meaning of the King Nebuchadnezzar's dream to him.  Daniel says, "Praise be to the name of God for ever and ever; wisdom and power are his....he reveals deep and hidden things; he knows what lies in darkness; and light dwells with him."  


What Daniel and Bacon have in common is that they both realized that God reveals things for his glory, not our own.  Wisdom and truth belong to God.  If God happens to reveal a truth to any one of us, it is always for his glory.  We needn't know the reasons or the in's and out's, as I am learning.  We don't need to know what will happen five days or even five minutes from now.  We simply need to show up and love big.  When we do this, God fills in the gaps in any and all ways necessary.  


After all, this whole story...that story that is being written each and every day...is about God's purpose for God's creation.  We are just servants called to love big and show God's love to a hurting world.  A cool thing happens along the 'love big road'...God reveals his truths and we grow closer to him and to his purpose in our lives.  It is a messy road.  Seldom easy and rigged with traps, the road traveled on the path to our eternal home could be one in darkness or filled with light.  I am forever grateful for the lamp at my feet and light on my path (Psalm 119:105)! 


For now, I ask that you please pray for Big Sister.  While God prepared my heart for her struggles, it hurts me to see her in pain.  I know that we are healing and that healing takes time.  We are still building trust, learning about each other.  I feel like I have known her for years, although she has only been home one month.  We have come so far already, but we have a long road ahead.  Please pray for our wisdom as parents, that we can handle situations calmly and compassionately and in ways that are useful for building each other up.  Please pray that we continue to grieve forward, in hope.  Thank you for journeying with us!  

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What Does Grief Look Like?

Grief wears many faces. Sometimes the face looks sad; at other times angry; perhaps withdrawn; maybe confused or anxious; and yet the face of grief during particular moments can even look joyful.  When examining how any one person may experience grief, there are so many factors to consider, probably as many as the number of hairs on each of your heads (or your friend's head if you are balding...you get the point).

Grief wears many faces.

This is a true and almost overly vague blanket statement.  It needs to be a blanket statement at times because trying to pinpoint any one reason or cause will probably not lead to an accurate diagnosis.  Grief, like so many other things in our orderly universe, is a system of systems.  It comprises one's entire being: physical, mental, and spiritual.  Years of hurt and harm and pain, coupled with life experiences and passing time, add up to the daughter I look in the eyes today.  Those eyes have seen unimaginable horrors. They have had to be braver than I'll probably ever need to be.  Those eyes try to hold back the tears because life has taught them 'why bother?'.  Those eyes, sometimes filled with hope and at other times seemingly distant, as if remembering or trying to forget, are the eyes I seek to make contact with as much as possible.  The eyes I encourage to flood with tears.  The eyes that I pray will experience healing and comfort and pleasure and growth in Christ.  The eyes that I desire to grieve forward, growing and learning, yet able to grasp and unwrap the many painful experiences of the past.  


An old proverb says that eyes are the windows to the soul.   I would like to believe that to be true.  My experiences tell me that the saying is true, although I know this may leave questions concerning visually impaired individuals.  When I look into my daughter's eyes, I look deep.  I see the pain, the confusion, the hope.  I see her draw close at times and at other times push back, as if she is fearful that letting her guard down will result in more pain.  I see that her grief is very real, very raw, and yet only in its infancy.  I know we will have many grief episodes in the upcoming weeks and months.  They will wear different faces and be triggered by any number of things.  


Dictionary.com defines grief as keen mental suffering or distress or affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.  When I recited that definition aloud, the words themselves made my stomach drop as if on a roller coaster; they conjured up many ill feelings and emotions.  I need nothing more than to think about losing my mom to cancer and am flooded with grief, with regret.  In many ways, I can empathize with my children's grief.  In many other ways, our grief is as unique as the people experiencing it.


What does grief look like on any given day?  


Funny you should ask.  First, let me start by saying that grief can and does look like any number of things.  We cannot forget that grief wears many faces, many masks.  My previous post was about honoring the "other woman", our children's birth families, and other caretakers their lives.  I felt a strong nudge to write that post and stayed up until 1:00 a.m. on Friday evening knocking it out.  It was almost as if God knew I was going to need to read it myself two short days later.  That I was going to have to be reminded about her birth mother because we were about to have our first real grief episode and God wanted to let me know what this particular episode may be about.  


The following is what unfolded over the past 24 hours:

We returned from an awesome bike ride around a local lake and were eating dinner, preparing to watch a family movie.  Big Sister wasn't feeling very well.  She pointed to her lower belly and mimed cramping.  (Insert:  There is nothing like physically not feeling well to introduce grief.  This is something I can relate to.  I remember the first time I got ill while away at college, running a high fever and not able to get out of bed.  I wanted nothing more than to curl up on my mom's couch and have her make me scrambled eggs, toast, and tea and to tell me everything would be OK.  However, I was three hours away from home and wanting to play the part of a secure, confident grown-up, I probably just internalized the fear, felt lonely, and hoped for the best.)  Anyway, I noticed her start to withdraw.  I gave her some Tylenol for the stomach pain, sat next to her on the couch, and rubbed her back.  Soon enough, she seemed to be feeling better.  We read, prayed, and said good night.  


Fast-forwarding to this morning, she woke up on time and we all rushed around the house getting ready for church.  It was our typical Sunday-morning-not-so-calm-thirty-minute-dash to get the kids fed and dressed, their teeth and hair brushed, and into the car fifteen minutes before the service begins at church.  (Insert:  If I could go back, I would have slowed down a bit this morning, remembering Big Sister was a not feeling well the night before, and would have remembered to start the day by hugging and kissing each child, thanking God for another day with our family.  Instead, I rushed around like a mad woman trying to make sure all the boxes were checked, forgetting to start my day with prayer and thanksgiving.  Boo to me!)  Church came and went and Big Sister did well in Sunday School, making sand art using the colors of the Ethiopian flag.  I had a meeting to attend at noon so my husband took the kids to the park where they played and rode bikes.  When I returned, he told me to go check on Big Sister because he sensed she was "off".  I sat in the dining room where I could hear her in her bedroom upstairs.  I heard a little bit of banging and stepping, but nothing worrisome.  I gave her some time, but then went to check on her.


I will share the next part of the story a bit hesitantly.  It is one of my worst fears that anything I write would scare anyone from reaching out to parent an older child.  I share our stories simply so that others going through similar situations do not feel alone.  I pray that it encourages, not drives away.  Older child adoption has blessed our family in more ways than words will ever do justice.  I see Jesus' face in every hurt and broken child, young and old, and personally feel called to older children.  There is nothing that has ever happened in our home that would paralyze us from adopting an older child.  However, with all adoptions, we have to remember the other part of the equation.  Someone endured great loss before a child was added to our family.  That pain and loss has consequences.  In the case of older children, they are bigger and more vocal and tend to act our their grief in different and various ways.  Also, please keep in mind that Sassy, brought home at eighteen months(ish) old, wrecked havoc on all of us.  Her screams of terror could be heard a block away and I was nearly at my breaking point when when her piercing shrills subsided and she allowed herself to trust me to meet her needs and not abandon her.  My point is that infants and toddlers experience grief too, they just don't have the words to tell us what is going on.  


Back to the story.


I walked down the hall and knocked on Big Sister's bedroom door.  She opened it slightly, but did not want to let me in.  She pleaded with me not to come in, but of course I had to.  She had throw all of her pictures around her room along with a small wicker basket.  (Honestly, my preschoolers make more a mess with their toys.)  She had turned over all of the picture frames on her bed (holding photos of our family, her birth mother, and friends from Addis).  They were all face down.  On the floor, her photos were throw in two directions.  To the left were pictures of her 'old life' and to the right were pictures of her 'new life'.  On her magnetic white board hung a black and white printout of a photo taken of her and her birth mother from the orphanage.  The messy room was a beautiful blessing from God.  I could visually see the struggle going on in her mind and heart.  She was torn.  Was she to the left or to the right?  Where did she belong?  What was her identity?  She wanted to escape, to not have any visual reminders that her life was split in two.  That big, life-altering, permanent changes had taken place.  There was nowhere to escape to.  This was home, and this home is now part of her identity.  


We grieve forward.  


For this first time since arriving home, she cried.  I felt relieved.  She let herself have an outlet, to allow her emotions to surface and flow freely.  She kept apologizing for the photos and I kept reassuring her that it was OK.  I told her that I knew it was hard.  That it is OK to be angry, sad, and hurt.  I reminded her that her God loves her very much; that her birth mother loves her very much; that I love her very much; that we all love her very much; that all would be OK.  She held on to me and cried, as I kept telling her I would never leave her and that we are going to be alright.  Once she calmed down, I helped her pick things up.  I put the photos from the right and from the left in a mixed pile on her desk.  All there, mixed together, in one big stack.  Then, I sat on her bed and pointed to the photo of her and her birth mom.


"You miss her?" I asked.  Oddly, perhaps I thought not understanding the question, she said no.  I asked again.  She shook her head no.  I was confused.  Then, she said something that reminded me that God is always in control.  Always in the details, big and small.


She pointed to the picture and said, "That mom...you mom...same.  I look your face, see her face.  I look her face, see your face.  Same.  Mom."  I tried to choke back my tears as I remembered Sporty telling me something very similar.  He had a very special nanny during his long stay at the orphanage and one night, when he was recalling his time with her, he told me the same thing. Almost using the same words.  He saw the same face.  The face of mom.  (I told the story about Sport's nanny in this post.)  It doesn't matter that our skin color or ethnicity are different.  It doesn't matter that our bloodlines hail from opposite ends of the world.

God is so much bigger than skin color and ethnic origins.  God cares for his children and wants the best for them.  I am continually reminded that when we step out in faith and live the Word, God shows up big time and fills in the gaps, taking care of everything we are not capable of taking care of ourselves.  Oftentimes, God shows up in ways so perfect and specific, that I would be willing to bet it would be statistically impossible to happen otherwise.  When my face needs to look like the face of another, God makes it happen.  To bridge the gap.  The heal his children.  To remind us of the hope found in him.

As Christians, we are called to the bring the joy found in Christ to the world.  To a broken world.  To offer healing and grace and hope.  Sometimes that involves facing grief in its human form to bring hope and healing to a hurting child.  Sometimes it looks like things thrown around a room.  I'll take it any day of the week.  For a child who has only been in our home three weeks to feel comfortable enough to let her guard down and throw a fit means that she is starting to feel secure.  How lucky am I to be part of her story?  Her story of hope and healing.

Thank you God for allowing me the pleasure of knowing the joy found in loving and serving you.  Help me to never forget!

Psalm 10:14
But you, God, see the trouble of the afflicted;
    you consider their grief and take it in hand.
The victims commit themselves to you; 
    you are the helper of the fatherless.

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The Other Woman

I think about her quite often.  Daily to be exact.  I have known about her for over five months now.  At first, she was just a name on a piece of paper.  That name was attached to a story.  A story that would entwine her life with mine, her story with my story.  The name on the paper, attached to a story, that attached to my life would soon become a face.

I anticipated our meeting for nearly two months.  I have never in my life been faced with such a hopeless and simultaneously hopeful encounter.  She was the other woman.  The woman who had suffered many losses and who had endured more than I am privy to share.  The woman who was losing her daughter so that her daughter can gain life.  A woman, through no fault of her own, who is ostracized and ill.  She was left with no other choice.  She had tried every other option.  Still, every door she tried to walk through was slammed in her face.  There was no other family.  No income.  No school.  No welfare system or safety net.  She looks out and sees the countless children roaming the streets looking for food, work, or trouble.  She knows chat and alcohol are the substances many are choosing to numb their pain.  She chooses a different path for her daughter, because that is what mothers do.  Mothers sacrifice so that their children can live.

This is a sacrifice and choice I wish on no one.  I could not imagine.  I cannot imagine.


I lost sleep thinking about our meeting.  What could I possibly say to her?  Offer her?  What would she be like?  How sickly would she look?  Would she like me?  Accept me?  What would she ask of me?  


What is wrong with the world that this is even happening?  "This is not fair," I cried out to God many times.  "No, God...why does she have to lose a child?  Isn't there another option?  Why not?," I would demand.  "I want another option! Please!  Both of them...we can help both of them," I pleaded. 


But, I already knew this is not how international adoption works.  At least not according to the rules and laws as they have been explained to me.  No money, help, or support could ever be exchanged.  First, a child is declared an orphan through all proper channels THEN an adoptive family is sought.  Through this order of events, it (in theory) prevents any money or goods being exchanged for a child.  I understand the need to create ethical practices that keep everything on the up-and-up.  I understand the need to ensure the process is squeaky clean.  After all, we chose an adoption agency with an unblemished record.  


We wanted to welcome a child into our home who didn't have a family.  This scenario was a bit messier than our previous two adoptions.  I wasn't sure what God was doing, but he assured me night after night that we are to march forward.  "And the widow," I would hear in the stillness of my heart.  "Don't forget the widow."  Was this God's way of making sure I do not forget the other part of James 1:27?  A lot of us are quick to remember the orphans, but do not seem to speak as loudly and act as boldly in the widow arena. Do we simply not know what to do?  I imagine that is part of it.  I imagine many of us would adopt widows if we could.  I know I would.  There are a few, but not many trails blazed in this arena, at least that I am aware of.  But God tells us that we are called to the orphans and the widows.   Not the orphans or the widows.  "But, how God?  How?  What?  Where?  Please, make your desires clear."  


I spent the months leading up to our meeting asking God to make his will clear.  I asked him to please keep a crack in the door that opens to her birth mother.  Please God, do not let her drift back to her town, sick and alone, and leave us in the dark wondering what became of her.  Please, please keep that door opened until we can figure out that we are supposed to do.  


The day we met. 


Her name on a piece a paper.  Her story entwined with my story, attached to my life. Her face next to my face.  We are both mothers.  Both mothers to the same girl.  We become one family, me and the other woman, and our daughter.  We talk and learn about each other.  I ask questions, she answers.  She shares her story, smiles, and looks peaceful.  She looks healthier than she did a few months earlier, when she wasn't sure what would become of her daughter.  She has put on weight and looks at ease...which puts me at ease.  Though horribly crappy, this is the best solution at this moment in time.  I feel assured that this is the truth.  So far from perfect and not the resolution this idealist wants, but it is the best available alternative.  Big Sister was officially declared an orphan months before we ever saw her face, knew her story, learned about her birth mother.  She was an orphan according to all definitions under the sun.  That was her label.  Her identity.  


On this day in April, she would become an orphan no longer. The birth mother would consent.  We would consent.  The judge would approve.  The paperwork was complete.  The file was closed.  


Two mothers.  8000 miles apart. One daughter.  In some ways, I guess you could say we are caring for the widow.  I don't truly believe that though, to be perfectly honest.  In many ways, I believe we are not doing nearly enough to help widows and/or prevent injustices all together.  These are big problems and one person or one organization will never be the answer.  I know Big Sister's birth mother is at peace knowing her daughter is safe.  But is she really at peace?  As a mother, I am not sure I would ever be at peace knowing that giving up my child was the best alternative.  What kind of crap is that?  


What is the answer?  How do we care for the widow?  How do we care for the widow who lives 8000 miles away?  I don't have an answer to that question.  I would love to hear any and all suggestions or insights.  Orphan care, while messy, is at least navigable.  "But the widow," the silent still voice repeats in my head.  "Don't forget about the widow."   


The big answer, I truly believe and have said many times, is to share each other's burdens...locally, regionally, globally.  Balance the scales a bit.  It is not about being fair.  It is not about me.  It is not about you.  It is not about "your" stuff or "my" stuff.  It is about loving like Jesus loved.  Loving others the way he loved us.  It is about selfless love, even when it comes to parenting.  If we truly believed that all comes from God and belongs to God, I think we would be a lot more selfless.  God, help us to be more selfless.  Love requires sacrifice, as you demonstrated on the cross.  You gave your life so that we may have life in abundance.  Help us to give our life back to you so that others may experience the abundance that most of us take for granted every day.  Help us, God, to not forget the widow.  Help us to love the other woman, to welcome the other woman.  If there is a child in our home whom was not formed in my womb, help me remember and honor the womb where my child, our child, was perfectly knit.  Lead us...light the way.  Oh, and thank you for keeping that crack in the door.  


James 1:27
Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

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