The first time I met you, you were asleep. It was naptime and all the infants at Hannah’s Hope Ethiopia were swaddled all cozy in their Moses baskets in the common area. Except you. You were too big. So there you were in that miniature crib on the end, sleeping all soundly. I knelt down next to you and touched your face. And I marvelled at those impossibly long eyelashes.
Should I wake you up? I longed to hold you. But I do not believe in waking sleeping babies unless you are saving them from an emergency like a fire or tornado.
So I waited, trying to soak in the moment. (Which was smart because it was the last time you would sleep that soundly for about two years. *wink*) Then I heard it. Here in this place where I was so far from my world… where everything felt so unfamiliar… I heard these familiar words playing softly on a nearby radio.
Every blessing you pour out, I’ll turn back to praise
And when the darkness closes in, Lord, still I’m gonna say
‘Blessed be the name of the Lord. Blessed be your name.
Blessed be the name of the Lord. Blessed be your glorious name.’
You give and take away… You give and take away.
My heart will choose to say… ‘Lord, blessed be your name.’
This song, of all songs! This, I knew, was His gift to me. This very song… that was on our lips and in our hearts through every step of your adoption process. When we wanted to worry but sang instead. When we wanted to fear the unknown but worshipped instead. When things we held so dear seemed surely to be lost… and by His grace alone, we learned how to praise His name in the storm.
It was one of two moments that week that I felt God’s presence in a way that I simply cannot explain in words.
Then because Daddy and I could wait no longer, I picked you up and held you close. Slowly, those big brown eyes opened… wider… and wider… and wider. And for about six months or so, that was your signature ‘look’. Eyes, wide as saucers, taking in the world around you, all the while clinging tightly to Daddy and me. And, us clinging, too… clinging so tightly to Abba Father. (Eyes mostly drooping from lack of sleep and delirium.)
As I sit here today in this quiet place and remember these things I have ‘treasured in my heart’, truly all I can think to say is this… Blessed be your name, Jesus.
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Haley Long
I am a recipient of amazing grace. I’ve been married 11 years to my husband, Scott. We had 2 children, Isaac and Zoe. Then one day God met us both in the same moment and broke our hearts and filled them with love for orphan children. In 2008, we brought our son Beniam, now 3, home from Ethiopia. We are currently in the process to adopt a little girl named Mei from China. I am a Florida girl who loves sunshine, water, and sand. I enjoy almost anything you can do outdoors, especially in the mountains. When forced to stay inside, I love to read and write.
Three years ago, Kevin and I began pouring every last second into thinking, researching, and praying about adoption. We became more and more certain that God was calling us to adopt a child from Ethiopia. As the journey progressed, we found out He intended not one but two sweet boys to be our sons and a certain verse became my theme:
With this in mind, we constantly pray for you, that our God may count you worthy of His calling, and that by His power He may fulfill every good purpose of yours and every act prompted by faith.
2 Thessalonians 1:11
As our adoption journey drug on, I became more and more aware of how necessary God’s power would be to bring our boys home. We knew He had prompted us by faith to adopt these children and so, in faith, we continued to trust that His power would prevail and the boys would one day be our children. On July 21, 2011, we stood in a family court here in Louisville, Kentucky to finalize our adoptions, and we saw God’s good work fulfilled. The proceeding was more of a formality than anything else, but for me, it was a moment to worship. My amazing God, the God of the universe, called little ole me to travel across an ocean and make two boys who were not my own my beloved sons. He purposed, He called, and He fulfilled. Oh, how I love Him and how I praise Him for His power and His beautiful ways.
________________________________________
Laura
Most importantly, I am a Christian, saved by God’s grace through faith in His Son, Jesus Christ. I am also happily married to a truly great guy, Kevin, and we have four adorable kiddos, Mikias (7 years), Molly Kate (4 years), Miles (3 years), and Madden (15 months). I”m a home school mom but in my spare time, I love reading, running, cooking, and interior design. In the year 2010, we went from one to four children in a matter of four months. While we would have never planned it that way, I am so thankful that God”s ways are higher and better than mine. Everyday, I can see how God designed each one of us (biological and adopted) to fit together in the most wonderful way. My prayer is that our family will always be a sweet aroma of the love of Jesus to those around us. Come on by and visit us here.
When I was waiting all through 2010 to begin our adoption there was one friend in particular who always had time to mentor me.
Her name is Debbie. She is a Mama, too. She has 4 kids. 3 were born in China. And, Debbie always said the one thing that prospective adoptive parents all want to hear: my day would come.
Debbie would send me emails long before we knew Rissa existed that ended with: “Just think! You are one day closer to Rissa!”
Debbie is exceedingly special to me. Debbie made me believe in my own dream.
When Debbie and I would talk, I would be listening for hope and she would hand it over generously.
Once during a marathon-length-talk, Debbie said: “Esty, don’t despise the timing being ‘off.’ There’s a reason you are meant to go whenever you go.”
Now, I knew why Debbie had said this. When she brought home their #4 from China, they were denied travel and had to wait another 6 weeks to travel with an entirely different group of adoptive families to China. It had been over Christmas that year, and she had been sorely disappointed. But, during that trip to China in January, they met another adoptive family…and in time, Debbie was instrumental in a miracle for this family.
I knew Debbie was right. But, really, I believed that she was right about her situation. Maybe not so much about mine.
When things fell outside of my perfect timeline, I was frustrated and blinded by consuming desperation.
MY TIMELINE MUST WORK. Or so I behaved.
When all was said and done The. Timeline. worked beautifully,
This adoption has been a long journey for us with lots of unexpected turns. To be sure, other families have endured much longer, much worse. Different countries have programs that run upwards of 10 years. Other parents have lost savings accounts, friends, years, referrals, children. We’ve read stories that absolutely drained the blood from our faces.
So ours is certainly not the worst story; but, it is ours. And, it’s the only one we have to tell.
As I look back over the last year and a half, I see a rhythm between God, our leader, and us, His clueless followers. The tune changed as the story unfolded, but the rhythm stayed the same.
It started after God made it *crystal clear* that we were to adopt two children. We applied for two kids. We got approved for two kids. We planned for two kids. We prepared our bio children for two kids. We told everyone we were adopting two kids.
And then we got our referral. For one girl.
Our referral call. This is not how parents’ faces are supposed to look on this happy day.
Yes, this girl was beautiful. Yes, she was the perfect age for our family. Yes, we died over her shy smile (that was a clear fake out). Yes, her story broke our hearts and reminded us why we decided to adopt older children in the first place.
But where was our second child?? We were positive about this one. We couldn’t have missed God’s leadership on the two-kid agenda; it was one of those ridiculously clear moments where you either respond obediently or prepare to be immediately struck with cholera.
So this rhythm emerged:
“God, we’re confused.”
And he answered, “I’m not done yet.”
As we begged for clarity and tried to decide if we should reject this referral out of sheer blind obedience, God nudged us toward the same darling boy we’d been eyeing on the Waiting Children’s List, the one with the 1000-watt smile, on a waiting list for his crime of being 7 years-old.
God reminded us, “Yes I said two, but I never said they’d be related. Go fight for that boy.” Fight? Oh, I’ll fight alright. And, we got our boy.
This was Ben’s picture. Please note the Run DMC shirt. Destiny brought us together.
So three cheers! God really had a plan; an unconventional plan that required a half-crazed Mama who would enter the ring and use words and persuasion to win a referral. We had not one but two kids after all! And they happened to be the two cutest kids in the whole country, which we considered our prize for actually completing the 700,000 page dossier.
Fast forward to March 10th, that blessed court date. Now understand that I had already informed God that I didn’t want to be “one of those families.” The sad, sorry folks who didn’t pass and had all the troubles and waded through messy bureaucratic drivel and watched as everyone else passed them like they were going in reverse. The ones that clogged up the Facebook feed with bad news and had to answer the same questions twenty times a day about any movement? and who seemed like they had lost the will to live.
I mean, I thought I had made that clear.
So when Remy passed that very day like she was just taking a leisurely stroll through Central Park on holiday – exactly how I told God to work it out – we were devastated when Ben didn’t pass. Devastated. And the rhythm repeated:
“God, we’re confused.”
“I’m not done yet.”
We’d seen other families who didn’t pass court get their clearance within a week or two, so we naturally assumed our happy phone call was coming any day now. Remy was submitted for Embassy. Any day now. One month. Any day now. The court asked for additional documents on Ben. Any day now. Remy was cleared for travel in April. Any day now. We turned in some other official decrees. Any day now. Two months. Any day now. Three months. Please, God. Please. Any day now. “It doesn’t look good for this case.” Any day now. Crying, begging, pleading, cursing. Any day now. Four months. No. No.
“God, we’re confused.”
“I’m not done yet.”
Let me be fair: When I recount our line as “God, we’re confused,” that sounds tame, almost like a little old grandma who got lost at the corner of 5th and Lamar until a kindly police officer asked if he could help her and she chuckled and shook her head and said, “Well I guess I got a little confused!” and they shared a knowing laugh about who can figure out all these confounded streets down here? and he pointed her west and she made it to her destination just in time for the quilting guild.
When we said “we’re confused”, it involved crying and wailing and days when I couldn’t get out of bed. It included a string of months where, I swear to you, time stood still. I sobbed over other people’s happy adoption news as I typed nice words on their Facebook pages. It included a phone call from my mother-in-law after my daughter told her, “I’m worried about my mom.” My hair started falling out in clumps and my fingernails peeled off in layers. I lashed out at Brandon and my kids and Jesus on bad days; on worse days, I wondered aloud if God had any control at all over this chaotic, broken world. I doubted his invervention and questioned his sovereignty.
So yeah, that’s what I mean by “confused.”
And then we got this: “We’re getting a rejection letter for Beniam’s adoption, and we think you should consider coming to get Remy.” No. No. How could this possibly be our situation? How? We were the compassionate mother who refused to split the baby in half even if it meant separation from us. How could we go back to Ethiopia and fly away with just one of them? How could we break our son’s heart like that? How could God possibly be in this? Is he just mean? Has he forgotten us? Has he forgotten Ben? This is not the story we signed on for. This chapter stinks. I’m starting to hate this book.
“God, we’re confused.”
“I’m not done yet.”
In the dead of night as I sobbed into my pillow, begging God to comfort our son as we prepared to travel for Remy, he delivered “Love Ben” fully developed into my mind. And if you’re the believing type who buys the “God works all things for good for those who love him and are called according to his purpose” stuff, then you might not be surprised to hear that we witnessed hundreds of moments of glory through Love Ben.
Hundreds.
Like the 80-year-old outspoken racist who set his alarm for 1:00am to pray for Beniam at the start of the Ethiopian work day.
Like the multiple emails I got from adopted adults who were prompted to reconcile with birth parents, deal with decades-old wounds, and find peace.
Like the birth mother whose heart God healed after giving up her son 17 years ago.
Like the entire church who highlighted Ben’s story and set up a Love Ben Photo Booth after both services.
Like the college friend who told me she was praying again for the first time in 20 years.
Like the bundles of you who emailed to say you’ve decided to adopt.
Like the mamas and daddies who taught their children about orphans and God’s mercy and used Ben’s little face as a tangible tool.
Please believe me, these could go on and on. Rays of God’s light kept bursting through the dark. Just when I though my heart would expire, I’d get an email that said, “I told Ben’s story at the camp we’re running for foster kids, and they broke out in spontaneous prayer and singing for God to rescue him.”
Evidently God can wrestle glory out of the hard parts of the story.
Ben passed court the week before we traveled to get Remy, but our agency prepared us for egregious delays and possible litigation at the Embassy stage because of his rejection letter (I assure you, this had nothing to do with his orphan status). So, Brandon and I prepared for a fight.
Then we flew to Ethiopia. And held our son while he threw up and sobbed in our laps and clung to our necks, as we drove away with Remy, his only family on the same continent. And all the bravado disappeared into sorrow. I cried for 24 hours without stopping.
“We’re so confused, God.”
“I’m not done yet.”
Are you sure, God? Because I’m pretty convinced all our hearts are broken. Is there work left to be done? Is there something we can’t see? Would you please just assure us that you haven’t forgotten Ben and our family? Can we trust you to make this beautiful? Because it doesn’t feel beautiful. It feels aching and devastating and horribly unjust. We believe you but we can’t see.
But let it be said that God is still in the miracle business. As our agency prepared to submit Ben for Embassy, they were asked to try to secure his approval letter one last time, attempting to avoid the cluster ahead of us without it. Just as a courtesy, our agency went back to the government office, the same one who refused to write the letter for five months, in an effort I dubbed “the biggest waste of time on planet earth.” They’d made their position clear on Ben’s case, and had already died on this hill if you will.
They wrote it.
They wrote it on a Thursday, and Ben was submitted for Embassy the very next day. With all his paperwork intact. Every last piece of paper. They cleared him for travel 4 business days later on Thursday, and Brandon got on a plane 3 days later.
This is what God does.
When God said He wasn’t done yet, He just wasn’t done yet. He wasn’t speaking in code. It wasn’t a trick. The story was still in the middle, but I wanted to flip ahead to the end, past the conflict and struggle and straight to the happy ending. As Keeper of the Story, God knew the whole plot. He promised us way back that He planned on seeing these two children all they way from brokenness and abandonment to our home in Texas, an unlikely journey if ever there was one. And at the risk of whitewashing the difficult middle, we now have them here. He was faithful.
God doesn’t promise us a clean middle part of the story. He never said we wouldn’t encounter antagonists and drama and surprise twists and heartbreak. We weren’t assured a G-rated plot where good feelings are peddled and no one dies or leaves or fails or waits. God promised things like healing and restoration and redemption. Which implies there will be injuries and broken relationships and losses. When He speaks of beauty from ashes, He seems to know there will be actual ashes to resurrect beauty from.
If you are confused right now, if your story isn’t going the way you thought, or if you’re tangled up in the messy middle where hope is deferred, dear reader, it could just be that God isn’t done yet. Your story is not finished. Every hero and heroine must wade through the conflict to get to the end, and you can trust God because he is good. If you have nothing else to cling to, remember this: God is good. He loves goodness and justice. He heals and redeems. He is on the side of love and beauty. He is for you. He is never against you. You may be against you, other people may be against you, but God is not against you.
It is okay to be confused; I’m afraid that is our lot as finite creatures dealing with an infinite God. Some of God’s best heros were confused in their subplots. But I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on. Because God is good and he is for goodness.
And He just isn’t done yet.
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Jennifer Hatmaker
Jen Hatmaker has partnered with her husband Brandon in full-time ministry for 15 years, and they pastor Austin New Church in Texas. After a nauseating stint as an entitled, bored Christian, Jen and her family joined the battle for those on the margins. They pioneered Restore Austin, connecting churches to local and global non-profits for the individual, collective, and social renewal of Austin. Jen is a popular speaker at retreats, conferences, and seminars all around the country. She is the author of nine books and Bible studies, including Interrupted: An Adventure in Relearning the Essentials of Faith
One year ago today, our daughters arrived at an orphanage.
Frightened. Having lost everything and everyone they’d known.
Thousands of miles away, Rob and I were waiting with empty arms and hopeful hearts. In prayerful expectation over the children who we believed God had for us.
But today…
Today, those two little girls are four and a half months home with their mommy and daddy who love them like crazy.
Today, two sets of little feet came pitter-pattering down the stairs, and two sleepy, smiling faces peered up at me and said, “Good morning, Mommy. Daddy at work?”
Today, those two little girls snuggled up on the couch with me as we watched Sesame Street.
Today, I painted two sets of miniature fingernails and toenails.
Today, I had two helpers in the kitchen.
Today, I heard “please” and “thank you” and giggles and laughter. And even “You’re so cute, Mommy” and “Awwwww, Daddy – so cute, Daddy.”
Today, many hugs and kisses were exchanged, and many more “I love you’s” were expressed between those two little girls and their mommy and daddy.
Today, we are family.
It is amazing what can happen in a year.
Oh, how I love our little family. These girls could not be more perfect for us. Every part of the road that brought us to our daughters has been worth it. The waiting, the disappointment, the waiting, the heartache, the waiting. All of it is being redeemed. Daily. And, I believe that every part of our daughters’ journey is being redeemed, as well.The Lord has blessed us beyond measure.
…put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and with him is full redemption.
Psalm 130:7
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Elya Starek
Elya and her husband, Rob, have been married for 6 years and reside in Cleveland, Ohio. They have recently been blessed with two incredible daughters, ages 3 and 5, who they brought home from Ethiopia this past April. They also have two crazy but lovable dogs. Stop by Elya’s blog to read more about their daughters, their adventures as new parents, and their passion for orphans and the poor.
It was May 6th, just over two weeks after we had found out that our dreams of adoption had been nothing but a delusion. We had been deceived. Defrauded. We had spent thousands of dollars to bring two sweet babies home.
I love that old hymn that says, “Oh, for grace to trust Him more.” The chorus says, “Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him. How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er. I’m so glad I learned to trust Him. Oh, for grace to trust Him more.” And, I am living that desire right now.
JT left today for Guatemala for another 2 weeks (he had been home for 6 days after a 2 week stint in New Mexico). He left very early so he kissed us all goodbye while it was still dark. I woke up but sadly, the kids did not. That makes this even harder for Z and E.
So, today was the day when Z decided he would push me to my limits. We spent 3 hours this morning in a boxing match of sorts. He wanted to do anything and everything to push me away. The mentality seems to be that he wants to see how much it will take to make me stop loving him. I don’t give up that easily. He pushed, and I hugged. He hit, and I administered discipline in a loving way. He screamed and I prayed. He screamed louder, and I ran the vacuum cleaner (and prayed too). He threw himself on the floor and I sat him right back up. Over and over again, this boxing match continued.
All I could see over the course of those hours was a spiritual battle for his soul. I would not give up. I knew God was greater. My other kiddos can tell you that I was talking and praying aloud to the Father. “God, you know how much I can take, and I feel like I’m on the cliff and he is kicking me over….” I know that I cannot do this without the grace of our Father. He sustains. And, He won that battle.
Then, the war began to rage this evening. It lasted for at least 18 hours…it felt like 3 days…I think it was 2 hours total. Z started a new technique…laughing at everyone else, taunting me with discipline, and repeating every word that is said (but in a blah-blah-blah way). Nothing was working. Nothing. I was beat down to the core and showing the scars of the battle.
I sat him in my lap and had him face me. As clear as I could see, I recall a picture of my friend Keri holding her little girl Eden when she picked her up in China. What I remember from that picture is that Eden was screaming bloody murder, and Keri was crying for Eden. It broke my heart yet gave me a glimpse into the very heart of our Heavenly Father.
I told Z that my heart was sad for him today. I know that he missed Poppa and that he didn’t like it when Poppa was gone. I told him that I know he doesn’t have the words to explain or share his sadness. I told him that I loved him. And, then my eyes filled up with tears as I just said that I was so sad for him today. I saw a look in his eyes that I haven’t seen before. Tears rolled down my face, and he began to wail. We just cried together. We must have looked like a snotty mess (thank you God that all of the other children were merrily making up beds and cleaning upstairs)….. I held him and we continued to cry.
Then, we prayed that God would heal his heart and be His Heavenly Father. I begged God to show grace and patience to me so that I could give it to Zeke. Oh, Father, I beg you for grace to trust You more!
It’s not always easy…sometimes it is painful….sometimes it is ugly…sometimes it hurts like I cannot explain. But, our Father is good, and He has a plan. I don’t understand it, but I know and trust that He is holy and He is just and He is Sovereign. Oh, for grace to trust Him more.
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Sheryl Turner
We are a family living by faith for the sake of Christ alone. We have 5 children; some are biological, and some are adopted. We forget which ones are which. Our children are 14, 12, 7, 5 and 3. We are living to make His name known among the nations–follow along on our personal blog.
I knew that adopting Lily is one of the most wonderful life experiences I have ever had,
(It’s right up there with salvation, meeting, and marrying my Leading Man, giving birth, but different and unique from all of those and one that has changed all of us collectively, as a family.)
that I would be robbing all of us to not take this adoption journey again,
that the issue is really not, “why would we do this again,” but “why not?”
I knew that I WANT another child because I truly love being a mother. And having a child grow in my heart instead of my womb has truly been one of the most powerful things that has ever happened to me.
I knew that this hasn’t been an inconvenience to my family but has only made us stronger, fulfilled us,
and the life of these children is too precious a thing to waste because of my own selfish comforts.
I just want to read this book, can I just take a bath without interruptions, I DO NOT WANT TO DRIVE A VAN!!!
All the arguments, they are really so futile.
I have truly believed I was done until this moment.
I thought I had done what God had wanted me to and now I was finished.
But, this picture has completely revealed to me that we need to adopt again…
heck, that as CRAZY as this sounds to myself,
and literally at this moment I am shocking myself
I WANT to do this again. I believe there is another child out there for us.
And not only that, I am POSITIVE I think we should adopt an older child some where between Girl #2 and Girl #3.
I guess this is the point that I tell the Leading Man…
but wait…
that is going to make it REALLY official!
Am I seriously considering this????
Help me Lord!
This sounds completely ridiculous, but these are my stupid arguments at this moment:
I kind of like this even number thing…
We just got a new car, and we will be filling our last open seat. Won’t it be too stuffy? We can’t get another car, we just got one…and I am NOT driving a van!
I still feel that I am making so many mistakes with Lily why would I subject yet another life to the torture we know as, Anna???
That would mean more years I go without being able to read a book, travel with just my husband, take a quiet bath…
Isn’t it too soon? Won’t I be robbing Lily?
People are going to think we are crazy.
Wait a sec, am I doing this for blog love or because I am addicted to the exciting experience???
I don’t want to go back to China…maybe we can go get a child from Africa…that would be good, huh???
The first time I met you, you were asleep. It was naptime and all the infants at Hannah’s Hope Ethiopia were swaddled all cozy in their Moses baskets in the common area. Except you. You were too big. So there you were in that miniature crib on the end, sleeping all soundly. I knelt down next to you and touched your face. And I marvelled at those impossibly long eyelashes.
It was one of two moments that week that I felt God’s presence in a way that I simply cannot explain in words.
