My theme song for 2011...

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.