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)

Dear child,

As I was making my bed this morning, the empty place in my heart that was made for you began to ache. I ended up curled on the mattress, crying over the pain of separation and frustration and uncertainty.

It's getting harder, this waiting. Everywhere I turn, there you are. Annabell's hand in mine, Liam's weight on my lap, every burst of childish laughter or tender moment of affection reminds me that you are missing. You belong here, but you are somewhere else. All that stands between us are a few sheets of paper, but right now they seem a greater obstacle than the ocean we'll someday cross to reach you.

I love you, child. And as much as love hurts right now, I'm also thankful for it. It might not make sense, but crying and hurting over you feels like a privilege. A mother's privilege. Who am I to deserve such a blessing?

Aching for you,

Mommy

Embraced by Grace...Part 2

I can't believe it's been a week and a half since our fundraiser, and I'm just now blogging about it! It was hard to put it off for this long, but I NEEDED to focus on Annabell and Liam for a few days. We had a fabulous time on our staycation, and my daily blog posts about our activities were all I could handle last week.

Now, where do I begin? I'm still reeling from the beauty of the night. We gave the event the same title as this blog: "Embraced by Grace," and how appropriate that title turned out to be! Not just because of the place settings (which included a mini-essay I wrote about grace and adoption), or the incredible music chosen my Rob and Joy Derner (we ended with "Your Grace Still Amazes Me"...and I still have chills).

Those things blended perfectly, but the evening's theme was most poignant to me as I stood alone in a church classroom, trying to calm my nerves before the official start to our program. In the hall outside the door I listened as familiar voices laughed and greeted one another. Through the window I watched cars streaming into the parking lot. In the air I smelled delicious food prepared by people who had only met me a handful of times, yet drove all the way from Indiana to PA just to cater our dinner at cost. In a few moments I would walk out of that classroom and enter a sanctuary that had been beautifully decorated by loved ones and filled with fabulous donated silent auction items. And all of this was happening in a church I don't even attend, one which welcomed us with open arms.

As I stood in that classroom, reflecting on these things and crying my way through a practice run of the letter I was about to read in front of all those people, I knew that the term "Embraced by Grace" was meant for me, not just for our Rwandan child. Since the start of this adoption, Tim and I have been embraced repeatedly by the grace of our friends, family, neighbors, and even strangers. What a humbling and breathtaking journey this has been!

The evening went perfectly...the videos played without a hitch, dinner was delicious, the speakers were inspiring, the silent auction was smokin' (where else can you sell lemon bars for $79?), I got through the reading of my letter to our child without breaking into "the ugly cry," and the musicians brought the house down. Considering the fact that I had spent months visualizing every detail and prepared color-coded, minute-by-minute schedules for every person involved in the logistics of the night, I shouldn't be surprised!

But, honestly, it wasn't my hand that brought it all together - it was God's. It's so hard to describe the sensation...the closest I've come is to tell people I felt like I was riding a wave all week before the event. Something big and powerful was propelling me toward a destination, and the show was His, not mine. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thank you to everyone who took part in our special night. We will never, ever forget what it felt like to be Embraced by Grace!

Below are some pictures from the event. Somehow I'm missing photos of all the people who spoke or performed (oops!!!), but at least the decorations are well documented. :)

Place Settings - We created these placeholders for each of the 8 seats per table. Every place had a different quote that corresponded to one of 4 themes: Grace, Love, Service, and Life.

When the card was removed from the napkin, it could be opened from the back to reveal a short essay I wrote about how grace is reflected in adoption. I'll be posting the essay separately.

The eight quotes we used were:

Grace:

"The will of God will never lead you where the grace of God cannot keep you." - Unknown

"Let us touch the dying, the poor, the lonely, and the unwanted according to the graces we have received, and let us not be ashamed or slow to do the humble work." -Mother Teresa

Life:

"We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give." -Winston Churchill

"I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands. You need to be able to throw something back." -Maya Angelou

Service:

"What I do you cannot do; but what you do, I cannot do. The needs are great, and none of us, including me, ever do great things. But we can all do small things, with great love, and together we can do something wonderful." -Mother Teresa

"If you think you're too small to be effective, you've never been in bed with a mosquito." -Betty Reese

Love:

"The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread." -Mother Teresa

"I have found the paradox that if I love until it hurts, then there can be no more hurt, only more love." -Mother Teresa

Table number tents:

Program and Silent Auction Listings:

Place holders, front and back (assigned bidding numbers for the silent auction were inside):

The whole enchilada...more work than it looks like!

Check-in table:

Dining tables:

Silent auction:

Tim made 3 sets of his homemade hardwood building blocks for the auction, and displayed them in true Tim style - big and bold!

The very lucrative baked goods table. I was a little concerned we'd end up with some fights over these goodies!

My kids enjoying brownie sundaes for dessert: