Chapters

Chapters

3 Months Later

There is nothing to writing. 

All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.

Ernest Hemingway

Every story has chapters.

     When you’re trying to sort out an overload of information, or simply trying to survive it, it’s easier to divide it up into smaller pieces.  Manageable moments of overwhelming joy, gut wrenching heartache, and everything in-between, all deserve their due respect.

     There were clear chapters to every part of our adoption process and now that our kiddos have been home for three months, bleeding at the laptop seems like a task worth taking on… if I can manage a complete thought.    

It started with the “Seriously?  We’re going to adopt again?” chapter.

Our adoption announcement!

       Last week, my girlfriend read me my prayer request from this time last year when we were trying to decide if God was really asking us to do this thing again.  I begged Him to be loud because my world was very chaotic and busy.  So, clearly, adopting 2 more teenagers would make logical sense.

       But, she asked… and that’s really all it took.

Next was the “Referral Chapter” that had me holding my breath.

       These were the days where I prayed for my shy little girl to have big faith and a bigger mouth.  I went to sleep every night asking God to give her courage and boldness to simply say my name to the counselor.   

       Weeks weren’t even necessary.  It was revealed to me that my darling child had been asking for me everyday since she returned to Ethiopia.  She tells me now, that everyday she would ask if I had called yet to be her mommy.  She knew I would come for her. 

The “Paper Chase” chapter was a quick one…

       I somehow managed to do an entire Home Study and Dossier (a 6 month process) in a little over two weeks.  I look at it now and cannot believe how demanding I was of anyone that held the papers I needed to move to the next part of the process. I was on a mission.

The start to the cabin I built in
my backyard. 

The worst chapter was the “All In God’s Timing and Other Awful Clichés”

       I built a cabin. I painted random walls.  I pouted, cried, screamed.  I ate too much Mexican food, coffee and chocolate… but that’s all normal.  That was THE WORST!

But then… the “I’ll Never Let You Go Again” chapter erased the previous 5 months. 

       Finally, we got to fly to Ethiopia and see our kids for the first time as “Our Kids.”  Those were my babies and I was right where I wanted to be.  I was at peace… for a week.

Shirts to remember we are
coming back!

A few weeks later came the day dreaming chapter… “Go Get Them and Bring Them Home”

       I could feel myself slowly becoming more alive and excited to put a close to the chaos of the adoption process.  I just wanted my family to all be together, sleeping under the same roof. 

I was surprised when the next chapter was called “I Can’t Live Here Anymore”

Our little joy. 

       I have felt my heart pulling me toward Africa for almost a decade, but I was in no way prepared for the desperate ache in my heart when I left.  I’m pretty sure I cried every day for three weeks straight. 
    - One darling trouble maker’s, 2 year old excitement over my coming “home” (to the orphanage) and furious screams when I left, never left my mind.  They still haven’t.  I love her.  She can’t be adopted or she’d be here by now.
   - I called on other moms to take care of the 4 year old that lives on the street, alone.  What more could I have done to set her up for long-term success? 
   - My mind wondered about the one month old infant that God brought me to.  He allowed me to save her by simply teaching others the basics of human attachment, bonding and trust. 

       The things about it, is that I need those daily moments of God using me to be His hands and feet.  My heart still hurts.  My mind still races. I want to walk the streets of Ethiopia and anticipate God calling on me to serve one of His children and look more like Him.  My soul hungers for Ethiopia, and I will embrace the day when my kids are ready to head back for a long visit.

       It has been a long chapter. 

As the fog slowly lifted, the next chapter didn’t miss a beat. “Who Said Adoption is a Fairy Tale?” overlapped the previous chapter.

The day I figured out that eating
Runza helped him focus!

       Our kiddos have adjusted amazingly well to their American life, but there have been times when my eyes have been opened to a world of pain I had no idea could exist in the heart and soul of two tiny teenagers.  Dinner conversations shock me to the point of pushing my plate away.  Nightly stories and prayers evolve into a time of healing their heartache.  Drives around town allow for questions that plagued their minds all day to find the answers they seek.  And homeschool time… oh, please… how many hundreds of times will we say sight words like “as” and “at” before they finally stick???

       The thing is… it’s them.  So even if they were to fall apart every day (they don’t), even if they only told heartbreaking stories (they don’t), and even if they never fall in love with the smell of books (I pray they will)… it’s them.  And they are mine. I get to be there every moment. I’m so infatuated.  I’m so over the top in love with them.

And of course, Starbucks helps
my little girl focus!

Our current chapter can only be called “You’re mine now.  Always.”

     My baby girl is nothing more than a 5 year old in a 14 year old’s body.  She wants to be held, rocked, read to, kissed and hear how loved she is.  Every night, I’m the one that gets to kiss my daughter at least ten times all over her face and tell her that she is God’s beautiful child. She snuck in bed with me late one time and let me hold her all night long.  Her beautiful curls tickled my nose for hours.  For some foolish reason, she thinks we are all the most amazing people.  She sees us the way God does, and I’m not sure she realizes that we see her the same way.  I see a girl that is so willing to love, she’s going to move mountains.

     Yesterday morning, my man child locked eyes with me and said, “You’re the only one who trusts me.”  I didn’t even respond.  I said nothing.  I looked him in the eyes a little longer than normal.  He smiled and said, “Bye mom.”  Then he walked confidently into school.  I just watched, then I cried.

     Today was harder.  Much harder.  Days like today make me hate the enemy that calls earth his own.  He’s heartless and attacks the weak, the enemy, not my son.  My son is a fighter though, and he knows His Father loves him and calls him His son.  The chords on the guitar come out as a declaration as he sings worship songs so loud we can hear him two floors away.  He looks at his big brother like he is personally responsible for all things good in this world.  He has a laugh that will stop you in your tracks, and a light that will blind the world.      

     I never know what the day will bring.  Some mornings I walk on eggshells, afraid to rock the boat.  Other days I can ask them to climb the highest mountain or swim the deepest sea, and they would do it without questioning my request.  In the same day, “I love you” will spill from their lips with a shy smile, but being in this country will be more then they can handle.  This is life.  It’s ours. It’s theirs.  We are one family.

     I live with the tension of knowing that some chapters aren’t ready to end, but I refuse to remain stuck while others are waiting to begin.

Together at last!

My chaos!