Running Home

“There is no way my life is real right now!” 

I squealed those words more than once last March. 

The life that got me to the place that I felt I had to run away, as far away as I could get, was not a season of life that I want to relive. My life was full of Kingdoms that were shaping my identity and needed to be knocked down and rebuilt with God as the proper foundation. That soul work demanded separation from all the people and sacred mountain places that I love most. 

The blessings that had been prepared for me in advance were breathtaking experiences from start to finish. 

  I slept in a mud hut...

    met my Ethiopian children’s sister...

       shared the gospel with their dad...

          talked with a well known author about the soul of a child...

             and had the richest bible conversations with two of my heroes. 

And then…

Nine orphans left the government orphanage with looks of concern and wonder, and He allowed me to share every last minute of their day loving them in a new home we will forever call our own. 

On their first day with us, I got to pray the name of Jesus over each of them as I washed their feet. I fully recognized the humble position I was in and fought back tears against the feeling of being the richest person in the world.

We shared meals, and I watched in awe as one of the littlest protected her plate from invisible threats. She had been a beggar on the street since before she was three years old and had gone days without food on several occasions. That sort of trauma makes a permanent impression on your soul. In this home, she would never have to question if the next meal was coming. 

Throughout each day, my dream of being a teacher was practiced for hours as we counted and worked through basic math and writing lessons. Math isn't my greatest strength, but rolling out Playdoh to teach counting and addition... that's more like it. 

At night, I would mentally relax as I prayed over them and held their hands while they fell deep into sleep. As I lay in my own bed, I missed them. They were breathing deeply just across the hall, and still, exhausted as I was, I couldn't wait until morning. 

For a couple weeks, I lived with them in a place they will forever belong and call home. No more orphanage life. No more going unknown. No more wondering if they belong. 

As God adopted each of us into His family, these children adopted me into theirs. They continue to discovery the power in that word. Adopted. They are the sons and daughters of the same God that created the mountains and the oceans. They are His Beloved. They are a reflection of His love. 

They stole my heart the minute we met, and for an entire year, I have prayed for God to allow me to return.  

I told myself I had to make it a year. 
    Let the countdown begin...
        I'm running home. 

"What do you benefit if you gain the whole world but loose your own soul?"

Mark 8:36

My Walls are Full

When my 17 year old leaves a note on my nightstand, I know to expect a missing scarf or a pair of boots. At least she includes a heart or an “xo” to remind me that she loves me as much as she loves my closet.

If my 14 year old sends a text, I can plan on skipping whatever lunch plans I had because he wants to go out to Subway together and tell me everything that happened in whatever game he last played.  Play by play.  Even though I was there.

The 12 year old writes everything in Hebrew because she never stops being creative and knows that nothing looks better than “My Beloved” or “Unfailing Love” in Hebrew.

But then there’s this little girl, who technically isn’t so little.  My little one that turns 15 today.  The one that asked for a story about her…

When I first met her two years ago, she left me with a note that I carried around for an entire year.  It was all I had left of a little girl that I loved from the moment I met her. 

She had been in America singing with His Little Feet for a year. She asked for one last lunch before heading back to Ethiopia, and even though I knew it was going to break my heart to say bye, I went.  I asked by girlfriends for prayer and headed out to give her one last hug.  I fully expected that this date would be the last time I would ever see her.  She owned a piece of my heart, and I knew I had given it away carelessly. I just didn’t know what to do about it.

At lunch, she yelled at me, tears streaming down her cheeks, making a scene and leaving me speechless.  She was begging me to be her mom and all I could promise her was that God had a plan for her life.  She didn’t want to hear it.  She wanted me to say I would come for her. 

Ten months later, I jumped out of a van in Addis Ababa and called her name at the entrance to the orphanage.  I cried at the sight of the gate.  I knew that God had given me one of the greatest gifts of my life… He was allowing me to keep I promise I knew better than to make. 

But He knew. 

She came running.  I held her.  Knowing that for the rest of her life, I would be the one to protect her, teach her and love her more than she ever knew was possible. 

I had no idea what was coming. 

The teenage girl that I brought home was not what I expected. 

I thought I would teach her how to love.

     She loves me without fear.

I thought I would model trust.
     She takes me at my word and expects me to follow through.

I thought I would provide strength.

     She believes that we do anything as long as we are together.
Mostly importantly, I thought I would teach her about the love of Jesus. 

She shows me how Jesus loves. Completely. Without fail. Unconditional.

My walls can no longer hold her precious notes of affection. 
She has written too many.
But what she has written on my heart can never be undone. 

She speaks the same language as me… Words. 
Just give me words and you have my heart.

She has my heart.

Happy Birthday my love.

“But why would he skip Ethiopia?”

Those are the words that have replayed in my head all day - the innocent question of a teenage boy.  No longer an orphan, but some of the time, still acting like that is the only life he will ever know. 

“Where does he really live?”

“How many elves does he have?”

“Can I ask him for anything?”

“How many toys does every kid get?”

“How does he know where I live?”

It was supposed to be an endless breakfast that I didn’t have to cook… with a quick picture on Santa’s lap for the scrapbook I’ll never get to.  I had no idea what was about to play out.

The thought process of a boy who only knows the fend-for-yourself-life,
the orphanage-life,

the get-there-first-life,
the beg-on-the-street-for-dinner-life…
the mind of that boy was on full speed, and he was determined to have his questions regarding this “Santa” guy answered. 

“Mom? If he goes all over the world, why did he always skip me? Why would he skip Ethiopia?”

While he was questioning Santa...

The mind of this very protective mom fumbles for the right choice of words.  

I remind him of our conversations about the “Naughty and Nice List.”  Then the conversation starts coming together.  We begin to talk about life in an orphanage.  He hasn’t forgotten a thing about his old life.  I know we are replacing old memories with new, insecurities with confidence, fear with hope.  I know he will believe anything I tell him, and I have to be careful with his trust.

“Remember how many boys were naughty and liked to make you fight?” I begin, feeling my way through his emotions.  “I believe you would have been on the “Nice List” even before you were my son.”  I explain, “I am going to do my best to think like Santa.  I have been talking to him every year at this breakfast, so I think I know him pretty good.  I believe Santa would have brought you a present.  But you tell me, what would happen if Santa brought you and a couple of the other good boys a fun new toy?”

His liquid eyes squeeze up a little and I know he is picturing such a magical day.  He final replies, “I think the other boys would steal it and break it.”

“Then you would have felt really sad, right?”

“I guess.”

We both know that the big boys would have taken it, maybe sold it on the street later or broke it open to see what was inside and discover how it worked. 

“I think Santa was protecting you.  I think he didn’t want the other boys to fight you and take away your new toy.  I think he didn’t want you to feel sad for loosing a new toy.”

A mom just can’t explain to her little boy why there will always be darkness attempting to overshadow the light.

A little more trusting and excited after our talk…
and asking for a pair of Heeley's. 

There aren’t easy answers to many of his questions, but there is reassurance that he lives in a family now that will celebrate his new toy in a few days.  He has a brother and a few sisters that are going to cheer for him as he opens his special gift from Santa.  In the safety of his family, he won’t have to think about someone taking that special toy away from him.  He will simply get to treasure it. 

He’ll know that Santa loves all of God’s children all over the world. 

Whether they were born to a teenage girl to die on a cross for our sins,

or born to a mom that laughed at the news of her pregnancy,

or born to a mom that wept on the steps only to hand him back over a few years later,

or born to a mom that would die a few short years later…

… or born in the heart of a mom when she was a little girl and had to wait until he was a teenager to finally be brought home to her. 

This year, my little boy will know Santa will always bring him one fun gift to enjoy. 

However, it was Jesus that brought him to our family, and that is one gift that cannot be delivered on a sleigh, cannot be taken away and will grow more in love with each year.

At long last...

It’s our last night in St. Petersburg… and I should probably just stop writing here.

My heart is barely a few blocks away right now, and I can feel that hole that has been filled for the week, quickly draining again.  This week has been like an little adventure with interruptions from a fairy tale.

Here is a small taste of our first day together again!

Our first stop in St. Petersburg was to The State Adoption Center so that we could receive our official referral.  A referral allows you to visit a child and decide if you would like to pursue them for adoption… so I really would have liked to skip this step and jump right into the court meetings!  It’s procedure though, so we did it, had some authentic Russian lunch and drove over to the orphanage.  



Lunch with our coordinator!

Right as we first walked into the orphanage, one of the girls I met this summer on the tour was walking down the stairs, and I called out her name.  She is 15 now, which means that by May she will age out of the orphanage.  Because of that, she’s been on the hearts of many of us that met her, so it’s only fitting that I would run into her right from the start.  She turned around and came running down for a hug.  Off she went with a big smile. 

Next, we were told to wait at the top of the stairs while the adoption coordinator met with someone.  She said she would be with us in a few minutes. 

Just then, the huge door that leads to the children’s hall opened up and my beloved little girl snuck her head around.  Our eyes caught instantly, and at the exact same time, we each let out a shout of joy and ran to each other screaming and laughing.  Her arms wrapped so tightly around my neck that I couldn’t have escaped if I had to!  We just stayed in that embrace for a few seconds… and cried as seven months of waiting instantly disappeared. 

Our second hug after seven months apart!

She pulled us into the hallway, drug us around to meet all her friends and talked as fast as our poor translator could go.  We showered her with small gifts, mostly drawings and letters from her siblings and cousins and all her new friends at church that are waiting back home to meet her.  We got to see all the little places that are part of her normal day, and then… a special treat!  She yelled for her friends and pulled us into the dance studio.  She told us to sit, and suddenly, six little girls began dancing to “Once Upon a December.”  It was graceful and beautiful… and just for us!

 

The girls doing the dance in the orphanage dance studio.

As soon as the dance ended, we were pulled into the director’s office to open her file and hear all the details of her past.  In our time together, they teased me that I wouldn’t be allowed to adopt her because there wasn’t enough age difference.  Russian law states that there has to be at least a 16 year difference.  They claimed I was 26… and instead of adopting… I should BE adopted by the director!  Instead, we made an agreement that I can live in the orphanage for the next two months… wait a second… why am I coming home then???  Turn this plane around!

Once the official business was taken care of, we sat down on her bed and began to catch up on conversations that I’ve wanted to have for months!  I asked her if she thought of us at night, she eagerly said yes.  I asked if she looked through the pictures of our time together, and she does so much that she doesn’t have just one favorite… they are all her favorite.  She went on and on about her brother and sister that are waiting at home for her, she can't wait to stay up late and whisper secrets to her little sister, and she talked about Libby and Alex, who are going to lick her face all over... just to be clear… they are the dogs!  She remembers it all and misses it all! 

But the thing that this mama loved the most, was that she wanted to leave with us, "NOW!" At that very second, she was ready to gather up her things and be on her way… HOME.