Happy Birthday

   What is a birthday with no presents, with no candles to blow out, with no "Happy Birthday" song to acknowledge you were ever born? Four years and not a birthday celebration to be had. I never thought I'd see the day; I was sure he'd be home by now--home unwrapping birthday gifts from his forever family for the very first time, home blowing out four colorful candles on a cake even more colorful, home listening to the birthday song sung in his honor. Instead, the day passes for my son like any other day. He doesn't know it's a special day. But I do.

   And so I will celebrate my son's birth without him. I will thank God for His hand of protection over my son as he lay abandoned not long after being born. I will be grateful for the man who took him to the orphanage, where my son has lived ever since. I will pray blessings over those who provide for his care, peace for his parents--if they are even still alive. And I will rejoice that God chose our family to be his family.

   While the day is full of sadness, it is also mixed with joy. For with God, every bitter thing is sweet. There will come a day when there is no more sorrow, no more tears, no more orphans; today is not that day. Today I celebrate my son's birthday...without him.

   Happy Birthday, baby boy. Next year, we'll rock it.

 



Soon

   When I last left my son in Haiti, I told him I'd be back "soon" but what does that look like to a nearly 4-year-old? To a little boy who's probably never heard those words before, I'm sure the meaning was lost to him. All he knows is that the ones whom he has been told are his mama and papa walked away from him. Left him crying. Said they'd be back "soon"--whatever that means.

   What do you do when the financial well has run dry and you can't afford to visit your own child? How do you function when the wheels of injustice continue to run over you? What do you do when "soon" feels like forever?

   Time and time again my heart has been shattered. Time and time again I've picked up the pieces and given them to the Lord, the only One who can bring beauty from brokenness.

   And so with David I continue to cry out, "How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?" (Psalm 13:1-2).

   "It will be all worth it in the end," they say. Yes, I'm sure it will be. But I don't live "in the end." I live in the here and now where my heart is 1,500 miles north of my son, where my children write "my brother home" for their Christmas list...four years in a row, where tears don't yet taste sweet.

And so Baby Boy, mama will be back soon; I just don't know if it will be my soon or God's soon. Hopefully the two collide in the very near future. For now, Sweet One, "soon" is the best this mama can do.

 

 

 

GoFundMe.com/eq58qzyc

Home from Haiti

   For years I ran after uncatchable winds. Meaningless, says Solomon. Now I know just what he meant. The things I've pursued, worthless; the priorities, pointless. I'm home from Haiti, but I'll never be the same. And that's a good thing.

   As we turtled through the traffic in Haiti, I had much to take in. Sensory overload doesn't even begin to describe the tsunami of emotions that threatened to overcome me. It leaves you speechless, really. It takes time to process such beauty and brokenness, such injustice and ingenuity, such poverty and priceless people.

   An old crippled man begging on the street. A woman washing off in a mud puddle. A man sifting through sewer muck...for God only knows what. A one-legged man on crutches painstakingly trying to walk up a very steep hill. Two men, each with a plastic bag, digging through a heap of trash, collecting "valuables"--something to sell, use, or even eat. Children scrapping up dropped crumbs with their hands from the orphanage floor and eating them...with the biggest smiles you could ever imagine--crumbs; a treasure in the hands of an orphaned child. These images will forever be burned into not only my mind but my heart as well.

   Daily I was haunted by the sight of invisible chains heavier than I could ever bear. The strength of Haitians is a sight to behold. And not just physical strength, but a mental and spiritual stamina I'm not sure I've ever possessed.

   While in Haiti I came face to face with my own depravity. Joy that can transcend circumstances; laughter in the midst of suffering; patience in pain; perseverance that refuses to surrender. Countless Haitians possess these things on a daily basis to a degree greater than most Americans ever have...myself included.

   In the eyes of Haitians I saw hope and heartache, tiredness and tenacity. These eyes held countless untold stories; stories untold because not many care to listen. I would love to hear every single story--every heartache, every victory, every sorrow, every joy.

   To love as I have been loved--am loved--is now my highest goal. I was once told that Jesus will one day ask me how well I loved. "Not much" and "Not well" would surely have to be my honest answer. I want that to change. I want to love with abandon, to love whether or not I am loved back, to love the least of these. I want to actively and passionately love those society turns a blind eye to. Only we're not blind. Not really. We just don't like that which makes us uncomfortable. We place boundaries on our love; Jesus never did and I want to be like Him.

   My life is more beautiful since returning from Haiti and not because I recognize how blessed I truly am, although that is certainly true. It is because my definition of love and beauty has been expanded; my capacity to love everyone has increased.

   Now that I'm home from Haiti, I am embracing my new normal; I've discovered a new flavor of love. It's called unconditional. The least of these. The marginalized. The outcasts. The unwanted. I want to love them all--unconditionally.

   How do you walk away from a country that is making you what you are? Haiti, I will miss you, but you will forever be a part of my heart.



  

  

Struggling Faith

   I've experienced seasons of struggling faith but never like this. When people told me that adopting is hard, I had no idea what they meant. Now I'm living it.
   The longer the adoption drags on, the more my faith takes a hit. I never thought it would snail along this slow...and it's far from over. Some days I struggle to believe in the goodness of God. I wonder what God is doing...or if He is doing anything at all. My file has been waiting for a single signature for 15 months--that's no movement for 15 months and counting.
   Turns out, my faith was fashioned on my own expectations. When things didn't happen according to my time frame and according to my sense of fairness and justice, my "faith" faltered.
   When I realized what my faith was built on, I was broken. Peter, too, was convinced of the strength of his faith. Peter wept when he came face to face with the weakness of his faith (see Mark 14). I wept as well.
   Sometimes life leaves us at a loss for words. Nothing makes sense. We worry. We despair. We question. From the hidden depths, these moments reveal more about our faith than we like.
   Oftentimes what causes the struggle is that we are expecting our faith to bring clarity. But faith won't make things clear because faith is a matter of trust not certainty. And trust requires a certain amount of unanswered questions.
   And that was my problem. I wanted all my t's crossed and all my i's dotted. Timelines our agency gave us, I actually expected them to happen. I can see now that my faith was being placed in others, and when timelines came and went with no movement my faith was rocked.
   With my true faith revealed, I came to see that God couldn't part my Red Sea because I was too busy placing my faith in man. Only when I stop relying on myself and on others and learn to rely on God alone will I be able to build my faith to a level where my trust in God carries me through any storm.
   Faith is not an event; it's a journey full of overwhelming disappointments, sorrows, and seasons of waiting, as well as countless joys and victories. But the beauty is that every obstacle is an opportunity to grow.
   The fact is that following God's plan doesn't always produce the results we hoped it would. Just because we apply Biblical principles doesn't mean we'll get what we want. Walking by faith just doesn't work that way.
   If I believe that my temporary desires, in this case for my son, matter far more than God's glory, then I am deluding myself. And my faith will suffer.
   The truth is that I'm selfish. I want life a certain way. I want my son home. I've begged. I've pleaded. I've cried buckets of tears. All to no avail.
   When our heart's longings are not satisfied, the pain deepens and we may begin to question God. We find ourselves coping instead of overcoming, languishing instead of thriving.
   I've had to face the fact that I've been expecting God to behave or perform in a certain way. Now that the source of my faith struggle has been discovered, I am working my way out of the pit my expectations threw me into.
   The first step is repentance, for I wasn't truly allowing God to be God. I have surrendered my desires to Him and have accepted the fact that this adoption will not happen as soon as I'd like it to.
   I am placing my hope in God alone. If my happiness is rooted in the hope of my circumstances, my faith will fail. My hope is in the Lord (see Psalm 39:7).
   I'm looking at the big picture. There's more to this adoption delay than meets the eye. God is doing things behind the scenes that I just can't see. His every move is meticulously orchestrated; His timing, crucial. God alone knows every facet of this adoption that must come together to complete His perfect plan.
   I am learning that my faith struggles are not about my personal failures any more than they were about Peter's. God is out to transform my heart. He makes all things new, not merely better.
   Every day I am reaffirming my trust in God. If I can trust God for my salvation, certainly I can trust Him for this adoption.
   I'm also changing my perspective. Whether or not I understand it, there is a component to this adoption that I can't quite see and it just may be a blessing in disguise. I am trusting God that this pathway of pain is actually a journey to joy.
   I overestimated my ability to handle this adoption and found my faith floundering as a result. My faith struggle no longer discourages me though, because now I see it as an opportunity to encounter God. The more I press into Him, the more my trust and faith grows. And for that, the struggle is worth every moment.