Rwanda, here we come!!!

Dear readers, the time has finally come! It is with a mixture of excitement, relief, and trepidation that I share the news that we will be flying to Rwanda in just three days!

Some of you may be scratching your heads and wondering how this happened. Just a few weeks ago I was bemoaning our long wait and my poor response to it. Let me assure you, this news is not as sudden as it seems (at least to us), we simply didn't feel comfortable saying anything until our trip was certain.

No, we have not received our referral. Yes, we're traveling without it. (Our non-objection letter did finally pop up in our spam folder last week!) Unfortunately, I cannot share all the details surrounding this decision, but I do want to emphasize one very important point: Our situation is unique. The Ministry is clear on this point - families are not to show up on their doorstep without a referral. However, because of our unusual case, we have their consent to do just that, and we are hopeful that we will be meeting our precious little mystery boy or girl sometime next week!

I want to repeat this, because it's important: MIGEPROF knows we're coming. We're not breaking any rules or trying to force anyone's hand. We hesitated to share our news here partly because we were concerned someone might assume that our decision to travel without a referral means that they should, too. Please, if you're still waiting, I know it's excruciating, but please don't travel without MIGEPROF's consent or invitation because of us.

May 18 will mark the 2-year anniversary of when we began this adoption journey. Back then, we didn't expect to celebrate even our 1-year anniversary without a new child in our home! I'm thankful that God conceals the future, because I'm not sure I would have had the courage to begin this journey if I'd known how long it would take or how hard it would be. There are still many unknowns ahead of us, but we are praising Him for bringing us this far and trusting His faithfulness in the weeks, months, and lifetime to come!

waiting poorly

I haven’t written lately, not because I don’t have anything to say, but because I don’t know how to say it and because, even if I did, I cannot or should not say it on a public forum.

For those of you who are wondering: no, we haven’t heard anything from Rwanda. Tomorrow will be our 16-month DTR anniversary. Next month will be two years since we started the journey. I don’t think I need to say anything else about that. You get it.

I went for a walk tonight to fight off the demons. My heart was laden with a burden that’s grown so familiar I can no longer remember what it feels like to be free of it. I plugged myself into my ipod, hoping the combination of exercise and worship music would generate a chemical miracle and somehow erase the strain of what has already been a very long week of waiting.

As I walked, I prayed. Mostly I prayed for forgiveness. I thought about all the women who have suffered a lifetime of infertility, all the failed adoptions and broken dreams. I thought of people in Japan who have lost their loved ones, their homes, their neighborhoods, and so much more. I thought of death row inmates who would do anything to erase the sins of their past and have a second chance, but instead are facing a future that can be counted in the number of breaths they have left. I thought of all the things I could have to complain about and don’t. My burden should seem so insignificant compared to these things. Truly, what right have I to feel such frustration and despair? I’m merely waiting, and such a relatively short wait at that.

Yet my Seussian side tells me that pain is pain, no matter how small. Would it be right to scoff at my friend’s devastation over her first miscarriage if I had already experienced three of them? Does the God of the universe, who sees the most vile, despicable acts of humanity, fail to have compassion on the newly grieving widow simply because He knows the devastation of those who have lived through genocide and lost everyone they love? Is suffering a competition?

These are the jumbled thoughts playing out in my head tonight. I want to wait well, to have perspective, to take advantage of this opportunity to grow through my trials. I’ve gotta say…I feel like an absolute failure. I have not waited well. There have been seasons of surrender, certainly, but overall I’ve been whiny, self-absorbed, impatient, easily discouraged, and inconsistent in prayer. I’ve been a worrier, not a warrior. I’m so so so tired of me me me. Hence my prayers for forgiveness. And my fresh appreciation for the fact that adoption is about grace - in this case grace shown to an undeserving mother who is most definitely "the weak leading the strong." (I don’t think it would be a stretch to say that my kids have it together better than I do right now.)

As I was walking tonight, I watched the trees with their beautiful blossoming buds. When I finished pondering the havoc those lovely blooms would soon wreak on my sinuses, I observed how the branches appeared to be reaching to heaven, pointing to God for the world to see. Always pointing up, no matter the season. Blooming or barren, those trees are about their Maker.

I want to be a tree.

That's all.

An all-over-the-place post

Stress is a funny thing. You don't always know you're feeling it until it's more than you can take. It's all around us, there's no way to avoid it entirely, and even if you could you wouldn't necessarily want to because it's often caused by good things like laughing children and fun evenings with friends.

Two and a half years ago stress dealt me a blow I'll never forget. Too many years of overextending myself resulted in serious burnout and the unpleasant symptoms that go along with it, like panic attacks and general anxiety. Over the course of the following months I made serious efforts to reduce the stress in my life, and those changes played a major role in my healing.

And then we decided to adopt. In light of my recent struggles, I was afraid of introducing the stress of adoption into the mix. It took a lot of prayer and discussion to convince me to take that leap of faith, and in His faithfulness God has provided me with every bit of emotional stamina I've needed since the day we signed our adoption application.

That doesn't mean it's been easy. I praise God for sustaining me, but it would be dishonest to say He's enabled me to soar like the eagle every step of the journey. I've done a lot more walking (or crawling) than flying.

Waiting has become a second skin, but no matter how thoroughly it envelopes me or how familiar it feels, the fit will never be comfortable. Sometimes the weight is unbearable. Other times I barely notice it, but even then, under the radar, it slowly saps my strength and transmits that dim but steady hum of stress.

I am so weary tonight. The best words I know to describe this sensation are Bilbo Baggins' in The Fellowship of the Rings. "I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter, scraped over too much bread."

My heart is divided. I long for deliverance, but I also long for what I know to be far better - whatever God has planned. Perhaps this is why He lets the stretching continue. Perhaps it's the surest path to true submission.

Do you hear what I hear?

I have this friend. She's amazing...so compassionate, generous, wise, etc. The kind of friend you know without a doubt will be there for you in a pinch, no matter what kind of mess you've gotten yourself into. The kind of friend everyone should have.

The only problem is, she calls me at the most inconvenient moments. I feel horrible, but I'm always having to come up with excuses. "I'll call you back," "I already have plans," "I'm running late, gotta go!" To make matters worse, whenever we do actually have a conversation, I hang up realizing that all I did was tell her about my problems, my needs, my concerns, me, me, me. You get the picture.

Maybe I talk about myself so much because when I don't, the conversation feels so awkward. She's one of those people who doesn't mind letting the quiet moments stretch. I sit there listening to the silence and I don't know what to do with myself. The longer she goes without saying anything, the more I inwardly cringe. The suspense is worse than the final act of a Bourne film. So I let my mind wander...or I turn into a chatterbox.

By now you probably know who I'm talking about, and it isn't really a girlfriend. I'm writing this post in the aftermath of yet another "me myself and I" prayer time, in which I threw my requests at God as if He were a waiter jotting down orders.

Why is it so hard to "listen" to God? I know He's not silent. All I have to do is look around at nature or open my Bible to know that. But I also know that it's hard to hear Him when I'm running around like a schizophrenic chicken trying to do...well, everything. I mean, who else is going to do the dishes, cook the meals, wash the clothes, teach the kids, listen to the husband, counsel the friend, move the furniture, buy the groceries, pay the bills, fill up the gas tank, do the Bible study homework, change the Facebook status, send the text messages, take the bath, read the novel, update the scrapbook, bake the cookies, change the blog background, research the baby names, play the Webkinz games, watch the shows, check the forecast, eat the chocolate, and solve all the world's problems?

I've forgotten how to be still, that's the issue. The other day my four-year-old son was trying to tell me something while I was typing an email. "Yeah...uh-huh...that's good, buddy," I mumbled without listening to a word he'd said. Suddenly I felt his sticky little fingers on my cheeks, and with alarming strength he forced my face away from the screen. With his big blue eyes only inches from mine, he pleaded, "Mommy, I neeeeeeed to tell you something."

And I neeeeeeeed to listen. To my son, yes, but much more so to God. Earlier this month my friend Allie gave me the book Sacred Waiting by David Timms. I'm only two chapters into it, and I've already had several "ouch, that's a little too close to home" moments. Here's one of them:

In the mist of our mad scramble--what we bravely but vainly call the "good life"--we find ourselves harboring deep-seated impatience with God. We have little time to nurture a relationship with Him and generally feel that He should run at least as fast as we do. If we have a problem right now, then right now would be a good time for the Lord to step in and deal with it. We squeeze in a quick prayer request while changing lanes in rush-hour traffic and expect the Lord to fire back a quick answer, preferably a positive one. All the while we're rushing Him and rushing past Him.

How much guidance and wisdom have I forfeited by trying to rush through the last 21 months of waiting for our adoption? I've been so busy figuring out what to do - how to make the time productive, how to keep my mind busy, how to hold onto my sanity - that I've neglected the most important thing. I've been Martha when I should have been Mary, choosing the "better part" of sitting at His feet to - you guessed it - LISTEN.

The Rwandan adoption community is tight, and I love that. Just knowing my Rwanda Mamas are always standing by to encourage me is like carrying around a big hug in my pocket, ready to grab onto whenever I need it. It's so much easier to jump online or grab the phone and seek their comfort, advice, or companionship than to carve out some time to have a conversation with my Best Friend, who is the type that doesn't mind letting the quiet moments stretch.

Nevertheless, in His presence is where I know I'll find daily bread, living water, and rest for my soul. Not to mention the guidance and wisdom I so desperately need. If I can only learn to listen.

Re-entering the blogosphere

I haven't written much on this blog for the past several months, mostly because I haven't known what to say. Last fall I was in a dark place, logging more hours in "the pit" than I care to remember. Since that time my heart has navigated the changing tides of surrender, hope, frustration, cynicism, compassion, excitement, gratitude, disillusionment, peace, and longing. No, I'm not a mental case. I'm a waiting mom.

The details of our adoption haven't changed much. We're still waiting for our approval (DTR 14 months on Valentine's Day), though we now have hope that it could arrive very soon! In early January we updated our home study and jumped the hurdles required for new USCIS paperwork. Tomorrow Tim and I will be getting our vaccinations for eventually traveling to Rwanda, and then, once our extended I-171H arrives, we'll be good to go for another year.

I'm not sure what to tell you about my blogosphere hibernation this winter. The details above tell you a little about what I did, but not about what happened. That vital part of the story is internal, and I haven't sorted it all out yet, at least not enough to share on this blog. I can tell you that God's ways are not only higher than mine, they're galaxies upon galaxies removed from my pitiful, short-sighted schemes. The past three months have taught me a lot about His bigness. (I don't like the sound of that word, but it's the only one that seems to fit.)

When we began this journey, I thought it was about a child. Or maybe about a child and the portrait adoption paints of God's grace to us through Jesus. But lately I've realized that's only scratching the surface. God is up to something much bigger than us, and much bigger than a poignant analogy. He's after eternal, worldwide, revolutionary change. He's after glory.

But that is yet another topic for another time. For now I just want to say hello, I'm back, and thanks for not un-following me this winter! :)

My theme song for 2011...