Only a year?

When I was pregnant with Liam, I ended up in the hospital at 36 weeks with contractions 4 minutes apart. Since Annabell came 3 weeks early, I was sure Liam was on his way. But, no...after six hours in triage on an IV, the doctor sent me home. For the next four weeks I contracted regularly, day and night, and every day I woke up thinking, "This HAS to be it!"

Then, on my due date, the contractions stopped. For three days, nothing. Against all logic I began to despair that my baby would never come. And then, of course, the next day he did.

Where am I going with this?

Yesterday, December 14, was the 1-year anniversary of our dossier arriving in Rwanda (known in the Rwanda adoption world as "DTR"). This special date becomes a sort of identity to waiting families. It is the basis for all our predictions, hopes, and expectations, most of which (in this case) turn out to be wrong or misinformed. Nevertheless, being one year DTR is something I wanted to recognize, hence this post.

As with the last weeks of my pregnancy with Liam, there have been days over the past year when it seemed certain that good news must be just around the corner, and others when it felt as though this journey would never end. Today is somewhere in between...hope tells me that the end is near, but the battle-weary side of me holds up a hand of caution.

I'm not sure how to end this post, so I'll leave it here: It's been a year. I feel every one of the past 12 months. They've been some of the hardest of my life, but I wouldn't trade the lessons they've held for the fastest, easiest approval on record.

How about that?

A prayer on behalf of my beloved sisters

Last December I wrote out a special prayer for the women in my life. While preparing for a ladies' night I'm hosting tomorrow, I read through this prayer and found that my mind was continually drawn to the adoptive moms with whom I've prayed, cried, and waited over the past year and a half. Most of you were strangers when we began this adoption journey, but now you are family. This is my prayer for you tonight...

A Prayer on Behalf of My Beloved Sister

Maker of heaven and earth, I am so grateful for the spiritual sisters You have brought into my life to encourage, comfort, challenge, and inspire me in my walk with You. Even those who are little more than strangers to me are nevertheless knit to my heart by the bond of Your Holy Spirit. Thank you for this beautiful gift of fellowship and love.

My prayer this night is for my precious sister in Christ. Thank you for the unique way You have created her to reflect Your glory. Your fingerprints are all over her, just as they mark the masterpiece of Creation. You have made her for a purpose which will not be thwarted, and I praise You for Your faithfulness in equipping her for the journey ahead, wherever it might lead.

Father, I know that on this journey she will encounter peaks and valleys, and that in both of these You have a plan for her good. Lord, when she descends into the valleys, when life is painful and she can’t see Your hand at work, grant her faith to trust Your Word. Help her to remember that Your work is often concealed until a proper time, and that our human eyes and minds cannot understand Your ways. Enable her to see these times of drought and confusion as opportunities to exercise her faith in action. When the path ahead is cloaked in shadow, when You feel distant or even unreal, give her strength to push aside deceptive emotions and walk by faith rather than sight.

When she is frightened by the unknown, tormented by the quicksand of “what-ifs,” give her the clarity and strength of mind to choose her focus. Help her to take her thoughts captive and fix her gaze on Your changeless character. Fortify her with the truth of who You are—the all-powerful God who creates unimaginable beauty from the void of nothingness; the ever-faithful God who brings life from the barren womb; the abundantly loving God who stooped down to live and die for those who could never deserve such sacrifice. You are timeless, purposeful, and in absolute control of all things. The future is as the past to You, and “what-ifs” have no place in light of Your sovereignty. I pray that this truth would penetrate my sister's mind and heart until she is anxious for nothing and able to walk confidently in Your peace.

Father, when her spirit is heavy with guilt and shame, engage her mind to recall the sufficiency of Your grace in Christ. Remind her that her debt of sin has been paid for all time, and now that You have gathered her into Your embrace, she can never to be snatched away, even by her own failures. When she does sin, grant her the humility to repent and the courage to seek forgiveness of those she has wronged. And bless her obedience with the joy of restoration and closer fellowship with You.

Father, when my sister is sick and struggling to find the energy for her daily responsibilities, supply her stamina to get through the day, and wisdom to know her limits. Grant her rest of body when needed, and rest of soul even in the midst of physical labor.

When her family is ill, please bless her with a special measure of compassion and patience. Equip her with Your gentle touch and tender heart, that Your love might overflow to those in her care. And when her patience is at a breaking point, help her to pause and seek Your face, to find the strength to withhold responses that come so naturally, so that Your grace might be demonstrated in her conduct.

When she battles feelings of insignificance, call to her mind Your pleasure in using the humblest servant to accomplish the greatest purpose. Remind her of Sarah the barren, Moses the reluctant, Gideon the coward, David the adulterer, Mary the handmaiden, and Paul the persecutor. You are a God who delights in using the weak things of the world to shame the strong, and it is in our weakness that Your strength is demonstrated most clearly. Remind my sweet sister that in spite of her weaknesses, she is monumentally important to You—no less than a daughter of the King of Kings. She is an instrument of Your love in a lost and hurting world. Please give her words of hope to speak to the weary and a touch of comfort for the broken. Show her how powerfully You can use a simple smile, a gentle hug, or even a tamed tongue when it is offered in Your name.

Above all, Lord, make her foundation strong. May whatever You are doing in her life cause her faith to be more deeply rooted in Your Word, her sight to be more firmly fixed on Jesus, and her footsteps to be more eagerly following in His. Create in her a spirit of praise, helping her to see Your blessing in those things that are so often overlooked—the steady changing of seasons; the comfort of a warm home on a winter’s day; the luxury of consuming clean water and unspoiled food. Make her a mouthpiece of Your praise, proclaiming Your goodness with a contagious joy that unwaveringly points others to Jesus Christ.

It is in his name and because of his perfect love that I offer this prayer on behalf of my sister. May You bless her with your power and presence both now and forevermore.

Amen.

Eric Ludy - Depraved Indifference

the only answers I have

Many of you have asked us if we've heard anything from Rwanda, how much longer we expect to wait, why this process is taking so much longer than anticipated, etc.

I'm sorry if my answers have been short and vague. The blunt truth is that it hurts to answer these questions. Right now the topic of adoption is a wound. My instinct is to wrap it tight to protect and hide it from further injury. I can't decide which is healthier, to keep it covered or give it air.

That said, in an attempt to provide some answers to your questions, here's the scenario we're facing:

We began our adoption on May 18, 2009. At the time Rwandan adoptions were being completed in approximately 9-12 months.

As of today (18+ months later), to the best of our knowledge, our dossier is 13th in line to be reviewed. Before you start thinking that sounds pretty good, let me say that if the pattern we've seen Rwanda establish in 2010 continues, being #13 means we're looking at an indefinite wait. We might...might...hear something in 2011, but only if adoptions speed up. We're told they will, but we've been hearing that since February, and they've only slowed down further.

There are many reasons for the delay in Rwanda, some of which I understand but most of which I don't. What I do understand is that I've watched one dear friend after another conceive a child, carry it to term, and experience the joy of arms filled with the precious weight of the little one they've longed for. With each of these beautiful births, my heart simultaneously rejoices and breaks.

As I mentioned in my last post, I'm in a dark corner of this waiting valley. It's tempting to question...no, not just tempting...I am questioning. I often feel like Jacob, wrestling with God through the dark night. I've had to face the disturbing fact that my baby is still missing because He has chosen it to be so. There is more to this picture than I can see.

This morning I got up early, before sunrise, and sat on the floor in front of our wood stove reading the final chapters of Job. The prayer I'm striving to make honest in my heart comes from Chapter 42:

Then Job replied to the Lord:

"I know that you can do all things;

no plan of yours can be thwarted.

You asked, 'Who is this that obscures my counsel without knowledge?'

Surely I spoke of things I did not understand,

things too wonderful for me to know.

You said, 'Listen now, and I will speak;

I will question you, and you shall answer me.'

My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you.

Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes."

a dark place

This valley I'm walking through is full of ravines, and sometime around last Thursday I tumbled into one of them. It's a dark place of frustration, doubt, and hopelessness. It's where the distance between my child and my arms is a visceral ache that cannot be eased by anything but physical contact or a miracle of Jesus.

For a few days I tried to climb out of this pit. I know the ropes. It's not my first time down here, though I've never been this deep. But today I'm tired of fighting. Tired of waiting. Tired of disappointments, secrets, and questions.

Yesterday at Bible study we watched a video of a soldier returning from combat and surprising his six-year-old son at school. You can watch it here. When the clip ended, the entire room was in tears, and I was no exception. The only problem was, my tears wouldn't stop. I had to slip away into an empty room and try to regain control, but all I could think about was that little boy's face and the intense love and longing he had for his father...and how badly I want to see our child's innate love and longing for a daddy fulfilled in Tim. I imagine them standing at opposite ends of a room, arms open and eager, but unable to run to one another because... Well, I don't know why. That's part of the ravine experience.

Sorry...I don't have any eloquent words of hope to turn this one into an uplifting lesson in endurance. I'm just letting you all know where I am and why I've disappeared for a while. If you need me, I'll be down here until Jesus pulls me out.

One year ago today...

...I mailed our dossier to D.C.

And I had long hair.

Oh, the changes a year can bring.

Traveling Together

One of the greatest blessings of adoption thus far - and one I never anticipated - is the deep friendships I've forged with fellow travelers. I am continually awed and humbled by the strong faith and profound insight of the families we've gotten to know on this journey.

This past week Tim and I relished the much anticipated opportunity to finally be face-to-face with some of these new friends. Allie and Jeremy Brannon, along with their adorable sons Iain and Cory, made the long drive from Georgia to Pennsylvania to spend a few days with us!

Allie and I began corresponding last summer via email and quickly discovered that we share far more than a love for our Rwandan babies. Due to an uncanny commonality in hobbies, interests, talents, worldviews, and personalities, our friendship has become an invaluable source of encouragement, comfort, and fortitude through the longs months of waiting. I never knew I could form such a strong bond with someone I've never officially met!

After so many hours of online communication, being face-to-face with Allie was a wonderful treat! Between exploring the sights of Lancaster County, watching our kids bond over toy trains, and talking late into the night, our precious time together flew by all too quickly. Saying goodbye was tough, and the last few days of Brannon withdrawal have made me even more grateful for the memories we made during our visit.

One of the highlights of our time together was the Rwanda Mamas dinner. Oddly enough, in our little PA county there are several other families adopting from Rwanda, so we all met at a restaurant and traded adoption stories. It was inspiring to hear the diversity of paths that led each of us to this place, and a powerful reminder of God's multi-faceted methods for shepherding us in the right direction.

(From left: Me, Laurel Greer, Allie Brannon, Amy Shepherd, Sue Mitchell, Keri Altland, Vickie Hoover. And behind the camera, the lovely Heather Hohenwarter. Thanks, Heather!)

I could write for hours about all the fun, humorous, and poignant moments of the past week, but I'll let my pictures speak a few thousand words for me...

Feeding ducks at Lititz Springs Park:

Bonding over music:

Allie made these adorable shirts for all the kids to wear together. Notice the button over Rwanda!

On Saturday we rode the Strasburg steam engine and spent the day at Cherry Crest Adventure Farm:

Cutie pies in matching Africa shirts!

All of our kids are book lovers like their Mommies. Here, Jeremy does storytime for the whole clan.

Sweet end to the visit: Hershey's Chocolate world, followed by some play time at Cocoa Castle.

Now, time to start planning a trip to Georgia...

My Psalm 139

Last year my church's women's Bible study worked through Beth Moore's Stepping Up. Part of each lesson involved personalizing a psalm of ascent, which felt intimidating at first but turned out to be incredibly cathartic.

Today during prayer, while I was once again struggling to surrender the timing of our adoption to Him, God brought Psalm 139 to my mind. I found myself praying it, and then I had a strong desire to re-write it in my own words.

I've been learning that the lessons He's teaching me in regards to our adoption are often the same lessons He's teaching many of the people who read this blog - whether you're adopting or not. So I thought it might be helpful to share my version of Psalm 139. If you're not familiar with this psalm, PLEASE read the real version first. It's far better than mine. :) Enjoy!

My Psalm 139

O Lord, you have explored every hidden corner of my soul, and you know me intimately.

You know when I rest quietly and when I rise to take action.

You hear my secret ponderings long before I conceive them.

You know every step I take in waking, and every breath I breathe in sleep.

My habits, weaknesses, talents, and desires are more familiar to you than the scent of a baby’s skin to its mother.

Before my tongue tastes a single word, you know exactly what I will say, how I will say it, and how accurately my speech reflects my heart.

You walk before me and follow behind me, hemming me into Your fold with threads of love and grace.

You have kissed my life with the compassionate touch of Your sovereign hand.

Such knowledge is too beautiful for my simple mind to comprehend, too far above what I deserve and all I’m capable of hoping for…I cannot understand it.

Where can I go that Your Spirit is not there with me?

If I wanted to escape you, would it even be possible to run far enough away?

If I celebrate Your goodness, embrace Your perfect plan, and worship at the foot of Your throne, You are there.

If I relinquish my hold on hope and wrap myself in the choking blankets of despair, sadness, and doubt, You are there.

If my heart takes flight at break of day, and soars across the ocean to make its home in the rolling hills of a foreign land, even in my hopes and dreams Your steady hand will direct the winds that carry me; your grasp on me will remain strong and true.

If I say, “Surely these blinding fears and doubts are like a shroud, extinguishing the light of His presence and filling every crevice with unholy night,” even that deep pit will not be dark to you; The blackest tomb will shine with the light of a newly birthed sun, for night is as bright as day to You.

For you lovingly and intentionally molded the most delicate, intricate workings of my soul.

Your artist’s hands knit me together stitch by stitch in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because Your authorship of my life makes me a priceless, unique, eternal work of art.

Everything You create is an unrivaled and incomparable masterpiece. My inner being exuberantly affirms this truth.

The countless details that make me “me” were designed and assigned by You long before my miniature, embryonic heart took its first beat.

While my body and soul were joined through the miracle of life which You breathed into motion, Your eyes gazed upon me.

Before my earthly parents even knew of my existence, You carefully scripted every joy, trial, pain and blessing; every hope and dream and purpose; every endless day of waiting, trusting, and persevering - every beautiful moment of life - into the epic novel that is the love story of You and me.

O Lord, my soul cries out to know and understand your innumerable thoughts. I long to gather them up and sift them through my fingers like heaping handfuls of warm, salty sand. When I awake each morning, You are there with new mercies and endless compassion.

If only you would silence the voices that pull my gaze from you, O God! The evil one hisses whispers of deceit and slyly sows doubt as I wait on Your promises. How I despise his serpentine ways, and detest the part of myself that often nudges open the window to better hear what he has to say.

Explore me inside and out, O God, and make Your home in me; examine me and hear my fretful thoughts. Shine Your holy light on every tainted place in my soul and lead me by Your strong hand in the way everlasting.

Crossing the Valley

On October 31, 2009, I stepped into our local FedEx office and handed the clerk five and a half months of eagerness, determination, and hope wrapped up in a two-inch-thick folder. Six weeks later, when my computer screen confirmed that folder’s arrival in Kigali, Rwanda, I wanted to climb up on the roof and scream to the world that the McLennans were finally DTR.

That was a mountaintop moment. “Gotcha Day” will be another. But in between these mountains lies a deep valley known as Waiting, and you can’t move from one peak to another without passing that way.

Waiting is a place of diverse terrain, sometimes dark and despairing, other times beautiful and serene. From a distance the valley appears calm, even stagnant. But all who travel there will tell you that Waiting is a battleground, and the enemy’s name is Deceit.

Deceit whispers many lies in the ears of travelers, some of which are cleverly disguised to sound like wisdom, hope, or noble conviction. The key to a successful journey is recognizing those lies for what they are, and listening for Truth’s response.

Following is a partial transcript of this traveler’s ongoing battle with Deceit in the Valley of Waiting:

1. “Harmless Distraction,” a.k.a. Wasting Time

Deceit whispers: Waiting doesn’t have to be so hard. Distract yourself—watch more television, keep your calendar full, make lots of plans. Time will pass more quickly if you’re too busy to think.

Truth responds: “…suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope…” (Romans 5:3b-4). There is pain in Waiting, but also great reward. Instead of burying yourself in distraction, choose to be still. Allow hours of stillness to open your eyes to hidden stains of pride in your thought life, your fear of surrender, lack of faith, and desire for praise from others. Choose stillness, and you will be better able to discern the voice of Him who leads you.

2. “Conviction,” a.k.a. Self-Righteousness

Deceit whispers: Vacations, new cars, eating out…those people obviously aren’t losing sleep over the orphans of the world. The money for their daily trip to Starbucks could go a long way toward your adoption expenses…

Truth responds: “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?” (Matthew 7:3) Do you have food in your pantry? Have “leftovers” ever been a phenomenon in your home? Cease your complaints and comparisons, and beware of your misdirected pride in having less than some. Frugality is wise, but it doesn’t make you holy. Neither does adopting make you holy. Surrender your pride and echo the prayer of the repentant heart, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

3. “Optimism,” a.k.a. Idealizing the Future

Deceit whispers: Waiting is the hardest part of adoption. Everything will be better when your baby is home.

Truth responds: “Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring forth” (Proverbs 27:1). You dream of holding your little one close, rocking him to sleep, soothing every cry and loving away every fear. Are you doing this with the children you already have? Are you cherishing your husband, family, and friends…or are you losing ground to selfishness and pride? Rather than dreaming of a brighter future, devote yourself to loving others better today.

4. “Staying Informed,” a.k.a. Looking for Hope in All the Wrong Places:

Deceit whispers: Spend more time reading blogs, scouring chat groups, listening for rumors. The more information you can find, the better you’ll feel.

Truth responds: “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows” (James 1:17). Rumors are shifting shadows. Even the most sincere promises from trustworthy friends are shifting shadows. There is only one unchanging source of hope, and your adoption timeline rests in His hands alone.

5. “Realism,” a.k.a. Being a Victim

Deceit whispers: This wait is eternal, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You’re helpless, totally at the mercy of a foreign government.

Truth responds: “When my spirit grows faint within me, it is you who know my way” (Psalm 142:3). You are not waiting on Rwanda, you are waiting on God. He is good, He knows your heart, He loves your child, and He is faithful. Therefore, wait with hope, make room for stillness, and invest your energy in proactive ways—chronicle your journey, befriend other adoptive families, learn about your child’s birth country. Turn your eyes from yourself to others. Address the needs in front of you today, and leave tomorrow in God’s hands.

Remember, fellow travelers: Deceit’s end-game is confusion and discouragement. The enemy may not be able to prevent us from crossing the valley, but he can lead us down dangerous paths that bypass the many beauties of Waiting. Be vigilant, and remember that no matter what the enemy whispers in your ear, one thing is certain—Truth always has an answer. So as you walk, consume Truth, speak Truth, meditate upon Truth. Keep your eyes on the Word of Truth, for “your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path” (Psalm 119:105).

Until we meet on the mountaintop…

Crying at Payless

I took Annabell and Liam to Payless to find sneakers yesterday. Liam was easy, being a boy with zero preference for one style over another. Annabell was a bit more excited about the venture, and wanted to try on every pretty pair she could find, regardless of price or practicality.

Thanks to some bargaining and a handy coupon, we found what we needed for a great deal, but as we were getting ready to leave, I hesitated while walking past the infant/toddler section. Annabell stopped next to me, and somehow sensing my thoughts, grabbed the most adorable pair of baby girl's shoes.

"Mommy, can we get these for our baby?" she asked.

Believe it or not, I didn't immediately say no. After spending over thirty minutes trying the squeeze every possible nickel out of our purchase, I was standing there actually considering shelling out another $20 on a pair of shoes for a child we don't even have. A child who might very well turn out to be a boy.

Of course, my rational mind stepped in and sadly told her no, not yet. But I had to reign in my emotions before continuing to checkout. I doubt the sales clerk has seen many people brought to tears by the Payless inventory. And since she was already giving me a break on Liam's pair, I didn't want to abuse her good graces.

So I left the store holding two boxes of sneakers, two children's hands, and one more dream to add to the ever-growing list - shoes for my Rwandan baby.

Unfortunately for the poor sales clerk, I doubt I'll be able to buy them for real without blubbering at least a little bit.

a breadcrumb

We heard news today. Just a crumb. Something we were told we'd hear 3 months ago but never did. It isn't much, but it's something. I'm not sure if it's something I'm supposed to share, so I won't elaborate. But I will tell you that because of this news we now know that Rwanda has our dossier. It's been accounted for. We're on the list.

This might seem like a simple thing. But would you believe that after nearly 9 months of waiting we didn't even know for certain that our paperwork had reached its intended destination? Crazy things happen. Files get lost. Now we know that ours is not.

I wish the news was bigger. For now I'll be content with this.

The day is coming.

Rough week

Most of those who read this blog have probably already heard the news, but for those of you who haven't, here it is:

Rwanda has decided to suspend all new adoptions as of August 31st until they are able to implement guidelines and procedures in accordance with the Hague Convention (the Hague is a way of guarding against child trafficking and abuse in regards to adoption). This means that anyone who has not yet submitted a dossier by next Tuesday will be unable to do so until further notice. The suspension could be mere months (unlikely) or several years.

Those who have already submitted authenticated dossiers (like us) will have their files processed according to the traditional guidelines. Still no word on how long that might take, but it sounds like it WILL happen.

As you can imagine, the Rwandan adoption community is reeling. So many friends were days away from having completed dossiers, and now the door has been slammed in their faces. All that work and all those dreams, trampled.

It's heartbreaking to comprehend. I think about names that have been chosen, nurseries that have been decorated, gifts that have been purchased...so many people devastated, angry, discouraged, confused.

This is where the questions arise. Did God really lead us down this path, or did we push ourselves in this direction? Was this all a mistake? How could He give us this dream and then crush it?

The weird thing is, I've imagined this scenario multiple times. Well, not this one exactly. More like: if Tim or I were to be diagnosed with some serious medical condition and our adoption denied because of it, how would I feel? I would be asking these questions and more. I would be asking, Is God still good? Do I trust Him?

Isn't that what it ultimately comes down to in the end? Trust. Adoption is about a lot of things, but lately trust seems to be at the top of the list.

I don't have answers, but I have prayers, and at the moment I have trust. For those of you who are hurting, I'm hurting with you. Just hold on and choose to trust, even though your heart is probably screaming against it. You're not alone. This isn't the end of your journey. Just hold on.

Family

One of the most commonly quoted Bible passages among the adoptive community seems to be Psalm 68:5-6A: "A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families...." I've always loved these words, but lately I've discovered their truth on an even deeper level.

When we bid farewell to our dossier last October, I remember thinking, "Whew! The paperwork chaos is over, now we just have to wait." A friend had told me that the waiting would be the hardest part of adopting, and in my head I thought believed her. But as is always the case, only time and experience could prove just how right she'd been.

Last Wednesday we crossed mile marker 15. Fifteen months since we applied to adopt from Rwanda. Last weekend was also the eight-month anniversary of our dossier arriving in Kigali. There's still no end in sight. A few hopeful rumors here and there, but mostly what we hear is silence.

When I pray for our child, for our adoption, for my adoptive friends, I can't find words. I used them up months ago. So instead of saying anything I mentally climb into Jesus' lap and cry for a while. I know he hears my heart. He hears and he cares. And although I didn't see it until recently, I know he's responding.

"God sets the lonely in families..."

I used to hear that verse and think of orphans and widows. Now I realize that I'm the lonely one. There are days when the waiting consumes me. Thoughts of my child, questions without answers, yearning that can't be satisfied...these things tempt me to sink into myself. I crave isolation, and desperately need to avoid it.

God knows this. It's what he hears in my heart when I cry. So in His faithfulness He has set me in a family... a waiting family. It stretches across the country. Georgia, Alaska, Texas, Virginia, California, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Tennessee, Colorado... Together, we wait for our children. Together, we ask the same questions that don't have answers. Together, we yearn for the same things and struggle with our inability to act.

I don't know what I would do without these other waiting moms, and those who have endured the silence to finally feel the sweet weight of reality the first time they held their children.

If you're one of these, I hope you know how precious you are to me. How thankful I am that God has set me in your family. And I hope you know how jubilant my rejoicing will be when each of you finally hear the news we're all craving.

I cannot think of a trial or a pain

He did not recycle to bring me gain

I cannot think of a single regret

In serving Him only, and trusting His hand...

God has been faithful, He will be again...

All we have need of, His hand will provide

He's always been faithful to me

~Sara Groves

Too Much and Not Enough

It's been 7 months since our dossier landed in Kigali. About 8 1/2 months since I last held it at the FedEx office on Fruitville Pike. I don't know how many times my brain has calculated the dates by which we would most likely hear something from Rwanda. Maybe not until mid-June, I remember thinking in December. But that's the worst case scenario. It could be as early as March!

It's the middle of July.

I've been hopscotching back and forth between trying to forget we're waiting for something (not one of my brighter ideas) and obsessing about it every hour of every day. There's a balance, I know, but I haven't found it.

Last week I was praying for our child. That's how I pray: for "our child." Lord, please protect our child... Let our child know the gentleness of a loving touch...

But then I slipped and started praying for "him." Father, make his little body strong to fight disease. Let him sense your love and power, even at his young age...

I had to stop. A couple of sentences for "him" and I was bawling. "I can't do it," I cried to God. "I can't let myself feel that. It's too much."

"Our child" was comfortable. But as soon as I said "him," something happened. Or...opened, I guess. I can't describe what it felt like. Love isn't a strong enough word, and there was so much more to it than that. All I know is it had to be divine, because there's no way a human heart could hold an emotion with such power behind it. When I say it was too much, I'm not being dramatic. I literally felt like it was crushing me.

I don't know if our child is a "him" or a "her." I've suspected a boy for some time, but I was wrong in both cases when I guessed the gender of my biological kids, so I don't put much stock in mother's intuition. I can't help but wonder, though...if "him" affected me like that, what would "her" do?

This journey looks nothing like I expected. Certainly not like pregnancy. Most everything I've had to wait for in life has come with a deadline or due date. This wait feels eternal, a concept which my head tells me is absolutely illogical, while my heart says is 100% dead-on accurate. Too much love and not enough progress.

Oh, for news. I was so hoping to see my baby in 2010.

Dear child...

Dear child,

You don’t know who I am, but one day soon someone will place you in my arms and I will carry you away from the only life you have ever known.

I’ve spent hours imagining what our first moments together will be like. Will you come to me willingly and smile easily, or will you scream in fear and pull away? Will I cry with joy at our long-awaited union, or will jetlag and adrenaline shroud the entire situation in a cloud of unreality?

If those beginning days or weeks don’t live up to my romanticized expectations, that’s okay. There was plenty of screaming and crying and pain when your brother and sister joined our family as well. But there was also love, and gratitude, and hope. And when we look back, those are the things we remember.

I’ll be honest with you, though. Life with our family won’t always be a bowl of cherries. You might not realize it at first, but you and I don’t look much alike, and people will notice. As you grow they’ll ask you where you came from, and who your real parents are, and if you have any brothers or sisters somewhere else in the world. Let me tell you the answers to those questions, just so you’re prepared. As to where you’re from, our address is 28 Buttonwood Drive, in Lititz, PA. Your real parents are Tim and Alison McLennan. And you do have a brother and a sister. Their names are Annabell and Liam, and they can’t wait to meet you.

Annabell

Speaking of your siblings, this might be a good time to introduce them. I’ll start with Annabell, your big sister. When God knit her together, I think he mixed a little drop of sunshine into her smile. I have a feeling it will be her bright smile and tender spirit that comforts you most when you first come home. And as long as you’re willing to receive, Annabell will give, give, give. She’ll undoubtedly bring you each and every member of her stuffed menagerie, and she’ll draw you a gallery’s worth of pictures. She’ll make you bead necklaces and watercolor paintings and inedible Playdoh creations, and anything else into which she can pour her love.

The name Annabell means “beautiful grace.” How aptly your sister is named.

Liam

If Annabell is sunshine, then your brother Liam is the wind. Always moving, prone to sudden gusts of energy or temper, and rarely passing by unnoticed. You’ll either find him bashing his Thomas trains together in a reenactment of some tragic railway mishap, or cuddled on Mommy’s lap, soaking up every drop of affection he can get. It’s amazing to me that the same little boy can be capable of dive-bombing off the couch one moment, and begging for Eskimo kisses the next.

The name Liam means “unwavering protector.” How well God formed him for this very purpose, crafting a kaleidoscope of vitality, determination, and tenderness. Someday these gifts will flourish as your brother grows to stand for truth and protect those who cannot protect themselves.

Daddy

Now that you’ve heard a bit about your siblings, it’s only fair to give you a heads up about your Daddy. Where do I begin? I don’t know what you’ll think about him that first day at the orphanage when we all meet. He and I often say you’ll probably be afraid of his booming voice and goofy faces. But I’ll guarantee you, give him some time and you’ll love having a Daddy who’s still a kid at heart.

There are a lot of fathers in this world, but they’re not all Daddys. You have a very special gift, because YOUR Daddy loves you fiercely, and he’s not ashamed of it. He’ll be proud to carry you on his shoulders, and take you on Daddy dates and show your picture to his coworkers and customers. Together you’ll wrestle, explore the outdoors, and camp out in the backyard just because.

Sometimes your Daddy will be very busy and won’t have much time to play with you or tuck you into bed. But even then, he’ll crave that time with you and fight to get it back. In this way, as in so many others, your Daddy lives up to his name, which is “Timothy,” meaning “one who honors God.” He honors God in his tender heart, which you, my child, hold in your hand, even now when he doesn’t know your name and has never seen your face.

Mommy

And then there’s me, your Mommy. I still can’t believe I have that title, even though I’ve had it for almost 6 years. I used to worry so much that I wouldn’t be a good mother, partly BECAUSE I worry so much about so many things. And because I like to be alone, which isn’t part of the Mommy job description. Nevertheless, I need to be alone sometimes, to think, and write, and pray, and just to be silent. Sometimes that part of me becomes selfish, especially when your siblings are full of energy and volume.

My name is “Alison,” which means “truthful.” So, let me be truthful now: I won’t be a perfect Mommy for you. I won’t love you perfectly. But by God’s grace I will love you the best way I know how. When you wake up at night, sick or scared from a bad dream, I’ll rock you and tell you all about the God who’s bigger than the boogey-man. I’ll read you stacks of books and do all the silly voices to go along with them. I’ll sing goofy songs and dance crazy dances with you (even though there are good, solid reasons why I don’t dance in public). But you’ll laugh, and smile, and love every single minute of it. And at the end of the day, after you’ve fallen asleep in your safe, warm bed, I’ll sneak in to kiss your cheek one more time and remember that I’m the one who is blessed to be your Mommy.

You see, child, you may come from a place of poverty, but you are a priceless treasure. People might say we’re doing a wonderful thing for you, but it is God who is doing a wonderful thing for us. Daddy and I will have to think long and hard about choosing your name, because there are already so many things we want it to say about you. That you are loved, that you are chosen, that God has already conceived a beautiful purpose for your life.

Yes, choosing your very special name is going to take some time, so Daddy and I had better get started! Because one day very soon, someone will lift you out of your tiny metal crib, carry you out beneath the Rwandan sky, and place you in our eager, aching, hopeful arms. And after we’ve smiled, or cried, or maybe done a little of both, then we will carry you away. We will carry you home.

So wait just a little longer, child, and watch for us.

We are coming for you.

Grace in Adoption

Following is a piece I wrote to be incorporated into the table decorations at last month's fundraiser. Each place setting included a folded napkin with a trifold pamphlet secured to it. Facing the guest was a quote about love, life, grace, or service (for pictures, see "Embraced by Grace...Part 2" below). Once the pamphlet was removed from the napkin, it could be opened from the back to reveal the following:

Embraced by Grace

A Story of Adoption

In late February, 2009, I knelt on our sunroom floor and prayed for a deeper understanding of grace. I knew I must be missing something,, because in spite of a lifetime of reading, “It is by grace you have been saved, through faith… not by works… ,” I found myself continually trying to earn God’s favor and quench His anger by doing the right things and avoiding the wrong ones.

No matter how sincere my efforts, I was failing miserably. Selfishness, pride, greed, faithlessness… my list of sins and shortcomings was long and ugly. If God truly loved me, His love couldn't be based on anything I had to offer, because I was (and am) a mess.

Two months later I sat in my sunroom once again, this time seeking God's direction regarding adoption. I was frightened to embark on such an unfamiliar journey, worried about the unanswered questions and potential pitfalls. “Am I really cut out for this?” I asked Him. “Why would You choose me for this, and why now?”

Suddenly the memory of my earlier prayer came rushing back. Like a whisper in my spirit, I could almost hear Him answering, “This is what you asked me to show you, Daughter. This is grace.”

For the first time, the scattered pieces began to slide into alignment.… Somewhere in the world a precious child needed the love and protection of a parent. Adopting would mean major sacrifices of time, money, and emotional energy just to bring that child home, not to mention a lifetime of parenting to follow. But regardless of the cost or what the future might hold, that child needed a family, a home, love… lavish, unconditional, unending love. That child needed grace.

And so do I. I can't stand in the presence of a holy God and claim to belong there based on my own merit. I'm helpless to save myself; I need Him to do it for me...to make whatever sacrifice is required to bring me home. Thankfully, that's exactly what He did. A rugged cross and an empty tomb tell the story of my adoption. It happened over 2000 years ago, on a hill just outside Jerusalem. It happened through Jesus.

This is the first portrait of grace in adoption. I didn’t recognize the second until recently, when I really began to fall in love with a child whose face I’ve never seen. A child whose love I don’t deserve to receive, and whose presence in my life will be as much an evidence of God’s grace toward me as the act of adoption is of grace toward my child.

The second portrait of grace is this: I am unworthy of the blessing of loving or being loved by my adopted child, or my husband, or even my parents. Yet they love me anyway, for the same reason I love a faceless, nameless child in Rwanda—because of God’s grace.

“This is what you asked me to show you, Daughter. This is grace.…”

In the timeless words of 1 John 4:19, “We love because he first loved us.” Lavishly. Sacrificially. Unconditionally. That is what grace looks like. And that’s what adoption is all about.

Embraced by grace. Run into His arms, and discover the miracle of adoption.

“How blessed is God! And what a blessing he is! He's the Father of our Master, Jesus Christ, and takes us to the high places of blessing in him. Long before he laid down earth's foundations, he had us in mind, had settled on us as the focus of his love, to be made whole and holy by his love. Long, long ago he decided to adopt us into his family through Jesus Christ. (What pleasure he took in planning this!) He wanted us to enter into the celebration of his lavish gift-giving by the hand of his beloved Son.”

Ephesians 1:3-6 (The Message)