Letters to Elijah

Dear Eli-

Well, my boy, we are on the list! It’s been nearly a year since your adoption process started and we finally hit the list. We’re 69 out of 69—which means there are 68 families ahead of us that are waiting to bring their babies home—but darlin’ we are on the list! This is outstanding news.

What a crazy almost year it has been! Your Mama is learning so much about God’s love and the love of others, it’s been amazing. There are so many people here that are just beyond themselves to meet you. But no one could be more excited than me. I was never sure that having a child would be a part of my life but now I can’t imagine it without you. I can’t wait to meet you, to hold you and hear your little voice—my arms feel so empty without you.

You are never far from my thoughts. I wonder what you’ll look like and how old you’ll be when we meet. I wonder what you'll like to eat and what your favorite toy will be. I wonder if you’ll love to laugh as much as your Mama does.. and if you’ll appreciate my weird brand of humor. We are going to have so much fun together. It’s just you and me, kiddo.

While we are apart, I pray for you every night. I pray that God will keep you safe and meet all of your needs. I pray that He will be with your caregivers, that they might comfort you until I can be there with you. I pray that He will bless this adoption and use it to His glory. I’m clinging to Him for all of this because as much as I would like, your Mama doesn’t have all the answers. But I do know that I love, I love, I love you so much.

Until Next Time Precious Boy,

Mama

When the Walls Come Crumblin' Down...

I spent last week with my family. We had a fantastic time! It was the first time I have seen some of them in almost ten years. There were husbands I hadn’t met and little ones I’d only seen photos of. It was a comfort to me in a way I can’t describe with words. But I bet you know that feeling, that comfort that comes when you crawl under a warm blanket on a rainy day-- surrounded by warmth and safe from harm.

It shouldn’t be a surprise to me that I would feel that way and yet, it is. My family includes some of the kindest, sweetest and spiritual souls you could ever hope to meet. Now that’s not to say we don’t have our misfits and wanderers—we do (myself being among them). I used to take pride in my casting as a black sheep. But along with that role came a self-imposed isolation from those that love me for exactly who I am.

Over the years, a number of heartaches on top of a tumultuous childhood, created some barriers. I understand that most people don’t particularly enjoy being vulnerable—I am physically revolted by the idea. I’ve built walls stories high to protect myself from being vulnerable to even those closest to me. My aversion to vulnerability has kept me from pursuing relationships with my family, friends and potential suitors. I missed out on a lot and I’m just now realizing how debilitating my fear was.

Flash forward to me in the middle of adopting a child. Things have changed! This is the only way I can describe it: imagine you’re naked and sitting in the middle of a giant open field. There is nothing to cover you, except your own limbs. There are things or people in the forest all around you. Some meant to harm you. Some meant to help or heal you. You never really know who is who until you reach out and give them the chance to prove themselves. I’m reaching out, nakedness be damned! It’s both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Terrifying was my old path; I’m choosing now to see it as exhilarating.

I have been stunned, and remain so, by the outpouring of kindness and generosity I have seen from everyone from family to co-workers to complete strangers. I feel like those walls I’ve built so diligently over the years are crumbling. I realize now how they have limited me. Now I’m not saying it’s comfortable, it’s not. That’s years of crazy being undone by a little boy I’ve never met. But it’s necessary.

I am so thankful that God has put me on this path to adoption. I never planned on being here but I can’t imagine a better place to be.

Mired in the Molasses Swamp

If you read my last post, you might have noticed that I was not in a great place…a really not great place. I never questioned adopting that’s one thing I have right, but I did question how it was ever going to happen. How was I ever going to finish all the paperwork, raise all the money, jump through all the hopes? The answer and the question were both so overwhelming. I was stuck. I slowed down on everything because I just didn’t have all the answers.

As I talked it over with a good friend, she asked me “are you doing your best?” She’s so wise. It was an easy enough question but the answer was hard to admit. Was I doing my best? Was I diligently working on all the paperwork or was it sitting in my desk drawer? Had I finished reading all of the required books or was I just spending time thinking about reading the books? I wasn’t to doing my best, far from it. My best is way better than half-assing it, my best will blow you away.

I went to church a couple days later and I was reminded just how small I am in the grand scheme of things. I heard this verse and crumbled:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.—Matthew 11:28-29

I realized the biggest problem was that I wasn’t trusting in God 100% to take care of this. Sure, I said I did but the reality was I didn’t. I hadn’t turned it all over to Him. I was taking parts of it into my own hands. See, I have a big problem with trust, BIG. You would think that if there was one “person” I could count on completely it would be God. But trusting in anyone is not something that comes easy for me. I’ve been so self-reliant for so long that I thought I had to have all the answers, solve all the problems on my own. That was my deception.. truth is I don’t and I can’t.

I needed that message more than I can explain here. Once I took it all in, it was like the sun rose on a different day. The very next day, I started back to work on my dossier and realized I was further along than I thought I was. It’s over at the agency right now for review before I have it notarized. I’ve set the date for my fund-raising yard sale (June 7 & 8 if you’re interested in scoring some bargains). Things are back on track.

Thank God for new days.

Saying Yes and What Comes After

"When you say YES to adoption, you are saying YES to enter the suffering of the orphan, and that suffering includes WAITING FOR YOU TO GET TO THEM. I promise you, their suffering is worse than yours. We say YES to the tears, YES to the longing, YES to the maddening process, YES to the money, YES to hope, YES to the screaming frustration of it all, YES to going the distance through every unforeseen discouragement and delay. Do not imagine that something outside of "your perfect plan" means you heard God wrong. There is NO perfect adoption. EVERY adoption has snags. We Americans invented the "show me a sign" or "this is a sign" or "this must mean God is closing a door" or "God must not be in this because it is hard," but all that is garbage. You know what's hard? Being an orphan. They need us to be champions and heroes for them, fighting like hell to get them home. So we will. We may cry and rage and scream and wail in the process, but get them home we will." --Jen Hatmaker

I saw this on Facebook today and it really hit home for me. I needed to read that. See, for the past few weeks I’ve been lamenting the fact that I don’t have the $6,000 that I need in order to submit my dossier. The dossier is all of the paperwork that goes to the Ethiopian government. I’ve been working on it for about four months: doctor’s letter/blood test results, reference letters, clearance from the U.S. government, etc. It all has to be notarized and they are very particular about it. It’s time consuming and at some points very frustrating.

There’s no time frame to submitting the dossier, but the sooner the better. The sooner you get your dossier submitted, the sooner you get your referral–where they match you with your child.

The only thing holding me up right now is money. I just don’t have it, nor do I know when I will. Without it, I can’t go any further. It’s discouraging, I’m discouraged. I’ve applied for a few grants, I should find out in June if we were selected. I’m also planning a garage sale in June. June seems so far away.

But no amount of frustration or stress I feel compares with what my son might be going through at this moment. And that’s what kills me. He may be already there—I’ve asked for a boy between 0-3 so there is a very good chance that he is. He’s there, suffering only God knows what and I can’t do a thing about it. It breaks my heart every day.

I constantly have to remind myself that it’s not my timing but God’s. The money will come and so will everything else that's needed. My wanting to speed through this isn’t going to change that. Some days it’s easier than others. Some days I can put it to the back of my mind, put my head down and barrel through. Other days? Well, not so much. But I do know that He has the perfect child for me already picked out. I will meet him in God’s good time and it will be just as God has planned it. Until then, God will provide what he needs and keep him safe. He is always with my boy.... and me.

Today is just one of those “other” days.

All Fired Up!

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about hypocrisy. Since I was a kid, I’ve had a knack for recognizing it when I see it. Adults would say something, but behind closed doors do the opposite. When they thought no one was looking, the mask came off and that ugliness came shining through. And it is ugly, hypocrisy.

Maybe it irritates me now, more than ever, because I’ve encountered it on a few occasions surrounding the adoption. Really? International adoption? That’s what you get fired up about? You don’t want to question my single parent status, my lackadaisical approach to housekeeping or how I expect to properly feed a child when I eat popcorn and cereal for dinner at least three nights a week? If anything, you should be questioning my parenting skills. Aren’t there bigger fish you could fry? Or, I don’t know, a billion other, worthwhile causes that deserve your passion?

On a few occasions, I’ve had people engage me attempting to challenge my decision to adopt internationally instead of domestically. First, I should tell you—I don’t debate. I’m not going to try to win you over with facts and statistics if you don’t agree with me. You’re entitled to your opinion, just like I’m entitled to think (to myself) that your opinions are stupid. You can talk all day long and I’ll respectfully listen but unless you have some very potent arguments, you won’t change my mind.

Even my Mom has encountered someone who was upset that I’ve chosen to adopt a child from Ethiopia. “Why doesn’t she adopt from America, there are plenty of kids here that need help!” And they’re not wrong. There are plenty of children in the US that need help. Believe me, if I felt that God was calling me to adopt domestically, I would be all over it.

But honestly, why would you question it? I’m still trying to help someone in need and isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Didn’t Jesus direct us to take care of the orphans and the widows? I don’t recall any stipulations regarding their location being involved in that scripture. “Uh take care of the orphans and the widows but only if they are within a 50 mile radius of your own zip code. The rest are on their own,” sayeth the Lord. Don’t bother looking that up, it won’t be there. And ps. if you’re so fired up about helping kids in the US, what exactly are you doing? Are you donating to charities or volunteering? What are you doing every day to lessen a child’s suffering?

What irritates me the most is when so-called “people of faith” try to bring me into the same discussion. Honestly, brother (or sister)? You don’t get to pick and choose your calling. And you, of all people, are supposed to know that! You can pay faith all the lip service you like, you can post verses and inspiring messages on your Facebook feed, go to church every Sunday, praise God with both hands lifted in the air-- but I ain't buyin' it. You can do all of that and still have a heart as cold and black as stone. You’re so blinded by your prejudices that you don’t see the good that can come out of helping one child no matter where he’s from.

There are millions like him in situations you can’t even comprehend. There is no safety net for him, there is no foster care system or group home. If no one steps forward, he will live on the streets, be sold as a sex worker, get hooked on drugs or die of an easily preventable disease. But you won’t help or support those who do because he wasn’t born a US citizen? Lord, have mercy. If that's really how you feel about it, could you just keep your questions and your opinions to yourself? You're making the rest of us look really bad.

New Purpose, New Focus

“We slept on little beds of trash.” His words, the words of a four year old Ugandan orphan, played over and over in my head. His name is Derrick; he and his sister were adopted by a friend of my sister’s a little over a year ago. As his language skills developed, he was able to tell his family the things that he and his sister experienced before coming to America. His words haunted me. Little did I know, his story would change my life.

The sights and sounds of the Christmas holidays surrounded me but all I could think of was this child and others like him. As the days passed, my heart broke again and again for the orphans of Africa and around the world. The conditions they live in, so different from the luxuries that you and I experience everyday. True, I have experienced poverty. As the second daughter of a single mother, we struggled to make ends meet, there were days we didn’t have heat, water or food. We struggled for many years but with a lot of hard work, we pulled ourselves up and carried on. I’ve never experienced the bone-crushing poverty that these innocent children face everyday. And so I prayed.

I prayed that God would show me the next step in his plan. I prayed that I could be of service in some way, shape or form to these children. The burden that he laid on my heart for them couldn’t be ignored. He was calling me to adopt.

My family was apprehensive. I have lived the majority of my adult life as a single person. I don’t have a family of my own or a mate. Until this point, I had always been undecided on the topic of children. I loved my nephews as if they were my own and delighted in the children of my friends but I was never certain that children were in the cards for me. It only made sense that my Mom and sister would be confused or conflicted about my announcement. They were full of questions, as they should have been. I had questions of my own but my answer always returned to God’s calling for me.

As I began doing my research and attending meetings with adoption agencies, my sole focus was on helping these children. In honesty, it hadn’t dawned on me that someone would one day call me “Mama.” It sounded so foreign. I was going to be a Mom. A Mom! And now there is nothing more important to me, everything else in my life has taken a back seat. Every selfish impulse, every doubtful thought has given way to this singular goal– bringing my child home. The paperwork, the training classes, the fund-raising, as challenging as it might be, all gets me one step closer to meeting my child.

I’m adopting from Ethiopia. My request is for a boy ranging in age from 0-3 years. I pray for him every night. I pray that God will keep him safe until I can reach him. I pray for his care givers and his birth parents. Their jobs can not and will not be easy.

I am not a person of great financial means. I’ve been working since I was 14 years old and have always been a hard worker. I am financially stable– my bills are paid on time each month and I put as much as I possibly can into a savings account. Since I began the adoption process, I have saved every nickel, dime and penny that I can squeeze out of my budget but sometimes things come up. Sometimes portions of the adoption fund are used to buy a new washer when the 25 year old model I used breaks down or to repair the plumbing when the toilet starts to leak. It’s discouraging but I press on. Nothing will keep me from my son, certainly not something as surmountable as money.

It is my belief that God will provide everything that is needed to make this adoption successful as long as I keep saying “yes.” “Yes” to things that I can not foresee or plan for. “Yes” to things that will push me out of my comfort zone. “Yes” to things that will challenge me. I know I will be challenged. I will have to turn to others for help when my greatest fear is being viewed as helpless. It’s won’t be easy but no one promised it would be.

This adoption will grow and change me, as much as I will help grow and change the life of this child. But I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt that I was made for this, and this child, this boy half a world away was made to be my son.