Love Letter

Jesus, Abba, Daddy,

It's Christmas Eve and it's raining -- a gently calming patter forming the backdrop for my reflections this morning.  I sit in the stillness as I do every morning.  This month I've carved out space to ponder Your Coming and Christmas and Love and You as a Baby, the Gift of all gifts.  A Baby, and then a Savior, and now also a Friend. And I want to pause in this brief slice of time and say thank You for the Gift of You.  If there is anything I have learned in this short life, anything that has stolen my heart and gripped my soul, it is this: You are here.  You are with me.

You are for me. You adore me.  You delight in me.

It's not about what I do or don't do.  I cannot earn you.  I cannot pay you back.  I cannot lose you.

You're there.  You're always there.

When I'm sad.  When I'm fearful.  When I'm angry.  When I'm doubting.  When I'm bitter.  When I'm selfish.

You relentlessly pursue me.  No strings attached.  No expectations.  No condemnation.

You love me for me.  You accept me for me.

No matter where I go, no matter what I do, no matter how I act.

When I'm brave.  When I'm kind.  When I'm patient.  When I'm joyful.  When I'm fun.

You love me for me.  You accept me for me.  You are proud of me.

Your Love stands.  Immovable.  Unshakeable. Unstoppable.

I can't escape You.  And why would I want to?

In You there is unmatchable freedom.  In you there is captivating kindness.  With you there is genuine acceptance.

I am safe here.  I am loved here.  I am wanted here.  I can rest here.

You are here.  You are with me.  Emmanuel.  God with me.

Forever Yours,
Katie

Anchor of my Soul

Yesterday I woke up so sad.

We've been reading a lot in preparation for the major life change ahead, trying to educate ourselves and prepare ourselves for a world that has been foreign to us.  Up to this point we have lived in middle class America, a typical family with typical kids and a typical house who go to typical schools and have typical friends.  We are a type.  We are a middle class white family.

Soon we will be a middle class multi-racial family.  We will not be typical.  When our family walks into a room, we will not blend in. People are going to try to figure us out, and they will probably make assumptions.  They might stare.  Some might even ask questions.  We had to take a whole class about this -- what to say when people ask you questions.  It was funny, sad, enlightening, and maddening.  Because some people will ask out of curiosity and a desire to connect and learn.  And some will ask out of their own criticisms, prejudices, and fears.

I read a fascinating and scary blog post the other day.  I think it was the catalyst for my sadness.  The title is "Cute Little Black Boys Do Grow Up to be Black Men, Part II - And Now They are Ten" - you can read it here.  I feel like I am standing on the tip of the iceberg right now -- about to fall into the deep and scary and unknown waters of racial division in our country.  And stories like the one above reveal how little I know and how little I understand. 

I've read a lot of articles about Ferguson, from all sides and angles.  I wasn't there so I have no right to make a conclusion. What I did conclude is that there is still a very strong racial divide in our country.  One that I will never understand because I have grown up in middle class white America.  And it makes me mad and sad.

When we adopt these two children in a few months, we will stand before a judge and promise to be their parents until death do us part.  It's a covenant, a promise -- much like a marriage vow.  I promise to love them exactly the same as the other three children in my family.  I promise to give them the same opportunities, the same experiences, the same privileges, the same grace, the same love.

But I cannot promise that the world will offer the same opportunities, the same experiences, the same privileges, the same grace, and the same love.  I cannot promise that they will not be judged unfairly.  I cannot promise that they will not experience prejudice.  I cannot always protect them from stares and questions and ignorant comments.  And it makes me mad and sad that I have to bring these two precious children into a country where their skin color could set them back and make them feel less than.  And although I will promise to love and accept them unconditionally, I cannot promise that others will.

I am grieving for our country and for our people.  Every night Jonas asks me to sing him a song before bed. His request last night was "Jesus loves the Little Children."  Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight...  And as much as I am sad, I thought about God who must look at His children and grieve.

Yesterday I read a story in Genesis that was terrible, so terrible I put my Bible down and couldn't keep reading.  It was the story of Dinah, who was raped by an arrogant prince.  Her brothers decided it was their job to get revenge and they killed all of the men in the town.  Every daddy, every brother, and every son.  An innocent woman was violated and innocent blood was shed.  And it made me mad and sad.  Because it reminded me so much of our world. 

Sex trafficking.  Child abuse.  Orphans.  Homelessness.  Poverty.  Disease. Drug Addiction.  Murder.  Rape.  So much senseless brutality.  So much darkness.  So much sin.

I was overwhelmed by the weight of it all.  Overwhelmed with a desire to protect my five children from it all.  Overwhelmed with the knowledge that I cannot.

Later in the story, Dinah's father Jacob moves his entire family to a new place.  They bury their idols in the old place and he builds an altar in the new place.  It's a new beginning, a fresh start.  I can only imagine this grieving father is ready for change after all of the tragedy of the past.

God comes to him and talks to him.  God tells Him who He is, and He tells Jacob who he is.

"I am El-Shaddai. God Almighty." (Genesis 35:11)

I researched this Hebrew name a little bit (read: Googled it).  El means "God."  Shaddai comes from the Hebrew word "shad" which means breast.  Before it gets too weird, think nourishment, sustaining, life-giving.  God was telling Jacob -- I am going to give you new life.  Like a mother cares for her newborn baby, I will care for you.  I recognize your neediness and your helplessness, and I am here to take care of you.

And God tells Jacob who he is.  He is Jacob, a man full of mistakes.  A man who has made horrible decisions, has lied,  cheated, and stolen.  A father who grieves over his children's horrible decisions. 

And then God says, "Your name is Jacob, but you will not be called Jacob any longer.  From now on your name will be Israel." So God renamed him. (Genesis 35:10)

The name Jacob means: heel grabber
The name Israel means: May God prevail

As I was reading, I took comfort in the knowledge that as sad as I am, God is more sad.  I have 5 children to worry about.  God has a whole world.  I see a little bit; He sees it all.  He cares for this world as a mother cares for her innocent newborn.  He sees the promise of what could be in the eyes of every one of His precious children.  He grieves over the innocence lost and the promises broken. 

There is one promise that cannot be broken and will stand: May God prevail.  I don't know exactly how.  I don't know exactly when.  But GOD WILL PREVAIL.

When God stood with Jacob that day thousands of years ago, He promised to be El Shaddai.  He promised to take care of him.  And He knew how He would do it.  He would do it many years later with an innocent, newborn baby.  Baby Jesus.

A baby would pierce the darkness of sin and bring new life and hope.  It's backwards and upside down.  It's tragic and it's beautiful.  It's grace.  It's love.  It's HOPE.

And so that is what I hold onto in this season of sadness - HOPE.  And hope will be the anchor of my soul as I step into the dark waters of this unknown.

We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. Hebrews 6:19

One Year Later

On November 23rd, one year ago, we were on a plane on our way to Ethiopia. It is C-R-A-Z-Y what happens in one year.

Here's what happened.  Our year in review, a little early.

November 23 - 30, 2013 - Andy and I spent a week in an incredible country with incredible people doing incredible ministry.  We met a little girl at an orphanage.  She has an older brother but we didn't get to meet him.

December  2013 - Lights! Festivities! Gifts! Time with friends and family! And amidst all the holiday trimmings and events, I begin to pray for the little girl I met in the orphanage.  I try to imagine what she would be doing, seven hours ahead of us. 

January 2014 - A new year.  Time to reflect and ponder.  Andy and I continue to process all that we saw in Ethiopia.  I begin to fast on Monday mornings and set aside time to pray for the people I love in Ethiopia, particularly the little girl. I don't tell anyone about this.

February - I receive a disturbing text from a friend who knows the little girl.  She's not as "little" as we had thought.  She's a teenager and she and her brother are close to aging out of the orphanage.  Without family, that means life on the streets.  I sob all day, knowing deep down in my soul that God is calling us to action.  I don't know what that means though.  I tell Andy.  We cry and pray and ask God to show us if we are supposed to do something.  Andy breaks his ankle five days later.  Life stops. Surgery is scheduled.  Meals are delivered.  Two friends offer to bring lunch and we blurt out what's on our hearts - two kids, about to age out, can you help us get more information?  It feels really scary to put this into words and tell someone else. The four of us begin to explore the possibilities together.  They are adopting too, from the same orphanage. 

Our dear friends who are woven forever into our story! Many late nights and many tears and many laughs. Pray for their adoption too!

March - Emails are sent and phone calls are made.  Doors seem to be closing.  Many well-known agencies are shutting down in Ethiopia.  We are told the process has become very difficult. We spend a lot of time on the phone and online researching.  We receive some very bad news about one of the agencies and we feel like quitting.  But then I read Psalms.  "The helpless put their trust in You; You defend the orphans." (Psalm 10:14) There are 3 real kids (our 2 and our friend's boy) who are in an orphanage and need a family.  We can't give up on these kids until we've explored every possibility.  We fill out some pre-applications and tell our story to many more agencies.  More doors close.  More frustration, more tears, more crying out to God.  We spend hours on the phone with our friends and with agencies.  We finally find an agency willing to work with both families. Tears and rejoicing! Lots more paperwork.  Lots more phone calls.

April & May - A flurry of appointments, paperwork, check-ups, a fire inspection, a vet appointment, fingerprints, social worker visits, blood work, notaries, a tornado safety plan, more paperwork, more phone calls.  We finish our home study and submit it to our state for approval. 

June - We receive a phone call from our agency. They have obtained the official birth certificate of our girl and the age listed is 15 years, 9 months.  We are shocked.  We thought she was 13 or 14.  Our agency explains that we have a very limited window of time which to finish our dossier and apply for the I-600 (orphan petition).  If we don't apply by the time she turns 16, we could lose both her and her brother.  We finish our dossier in record time and it is mailed to Ethiopia to be translated.  We beat the deadline by a matter of weeks.

On our way to get our FBI fingerprints

July - We receive our official referral for S&A!! This includes lots of pictures and official documents.  We see pictures of their birth parents, learn the name of the town they grew up in, and receive medical and other reports.  We feel a deep connection to them after learning so much about their lives and their past.

August - Wait. 

September -   Our final piece of paperwork is submitted: the official application to the US to adopt these specific children.  The US Embassy in Ethiopia begins reviewing our case.  This is the approval we need from our government that allows them in the country.  Now we wait.  Again.

October -  We receive an RFE (Request for Evidence) from Ethiopia, which is very common.  As the documents are translated and reviewed, often an official will ask for clarification.  They require a new court order to be issued and signed and translated again.   Our agency (America World Adoption) is amazing and fields all of this for us.  Finally, we receive official approval from the US to adopt S&A!!

 November - Wait. We are waiting on one document - a positive letter from the Ministry of Women, Youth and Children Affairs (MOWYCA).  We find out that a batch of letters was released and we were not in the stack.  But, all of those letters were negative anyways due to officials rejecting a Power of Attorney that had been used for years with no problem.  In order to be proactive, we sign the updated document, get it notarized and certified by both county and state, and overnight it to our agency, who will have it certified by the State Dept and Ethiopian embassy and then sent back to Ethiopia to be added to our paperwork.  Our case will be reviewed again, and as soon as we get this one letter, we get a court date. 

And here we are today. November 25th.  One letter now stands between us and our kids in Ethiopia.  It's unreal.  There are so many days that it feels like it will never happen.  There are many days where it feels like it's all happening so fast.

On November 25th of last year, we met a little girl in an orphanage.  ONE YEAR LATER, she is almost our daughter.  In just a short time, we will be standing in a court room in Ethiopia, right hand raised, being sworn in as her mom and dad.   And not just her, but her older brother as well. Making a promise to love them both and enfold them in our family. 

Isn't our God crazy?  The more I get to know Him, the more I see how crazy He is. Such a Good, Amazing, Crazy God we have.  He took two ordinary people with ordinary lives and showed them this story that was unfolding halfway across the world.  And even though they were SCARED.TO.DEATH they said Yes and jumped in and now they are adopting two teenagers.

It's crazy.  It's wild.  And it's an honor and a privilege to partner with Him in His incredible story of redemption -- not just for those two children, but for us, for our family, and for our little corner of the world.

"Father to the fatherless, defender of widows - THIS is GOD, whose dwelling is holy.  God places the lonely in families, He sets the prisoners free and gives them joy."  Psalm 68:5-6

A Messy Bow

I have been in a major funk lately. 

Last week we got an email that should have been a cause for celebration.  Our case is finally being reviewed by the Embassy in Ethiopia.  We will probably be traveling in less than two months for our court date.  I should be jumping for joy.

I know all the right and good and true things in my head.  I have the Bible verses written in my journal.  I pray the prayers.  I tell people what I know I'm supposed to say.

But deep inside I am Scared. To. Death.

Our lives are about to be upended.  Every normal we have will be no more.  I cannot even get a grasp on what our family looks like.  It's just one big scary unknown.  And the fear.  It keeps coming in waves. 

I'm being brutally honest here.  So forgive me.  I usually process through these emotions and then tie them up with a neat little bow at the end.  But life isn't always neat.  Or pretty.  

I was discussing this with a friend recently and she said, "Truthfully when I pray sometimes I get more discouraged.  Because my theology leaves a lot of room to be disappointed with God and also leaves a lot of room for Him to answer prayers in ways much different than what I hoped for.  

So then I find myself asking this question:  Do I believe that You are really enough?  That you are really all I need?  Are you really all I want?"  

I'm looking into the future and I'm having a hard time scraping together any enthusiasm.  Maybe that is surprising because people who are about to adopt two kids are supposed to be over the moon with excitement. I have been.  And I have many days that I am. But right now I'm not. And I don't want to feel like this.  I don't normally share these things with the world. 

I think so often we don't leave room in our theology to be disappointed with God.  Because you know what?  God doesn't always follow our rules, our plans, and our expectations.  And so we get disappointed, disillusioned, dis-everything.

Look, when I was pregnant with my second baby I planned to have a healthy baby.  I expected he or she would be born on or around April 1st and be almost exactly two years younger than Sophia.  I planned to have a healthy pregnancy and maybe a hard delivery but it was nothing I couldn't handle.

But that is not what happened.  

At nine weeks I started bleeding and at twelve weeks we had a devastating ultrasound in which the blob on the screen did not move.  Our baby died.  

That is not what I wanted and I was sad and disappointed, and yes, I was kind-of mad too.  I had prayed for healing.  Why?  Why?  Why? 

I still really don't know the answer to that question.  I see Good Things that happened in spite of that Very Bad Thing.  I could expound on that for several more paragraphs, but that isn't always helpful when you are the middle of the Very Bad Thing.

All I can say is that God was still there.  I had Him.  When it was lonely and sad and it seemed no one could truly understand, I talked to Him.  In the night when I woke up panicked and grieving, I sat on the couch and talked to Him.  And I guess that is what He is trying to get through to me as I have stumbled along this road of doubt and trust for the past year.  

Very Bad Things happen.  But God is there.  

The other day as I was reading through Genesis, I feel like God confirmed this yet again.

God told Abraham He was going to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah (two neighboring cities) because they had gotten out of control.  Abraham is really upset because his nephew and wife and family live there.  So he starts bargaining with God.  Will you save the towns if you can find fifty good people? What about forty-five?  How about forty?  Thirty?  (I'm guessing Abraham must've known how evil the cities really were because he keeps going.)  Twenty?  "Lord, please don't be angry with me if I speak one more time. Suppose only ten are found there?"  (Genesis 18:32)

And each time, God answered him.  He listened.  He cared.  He engaged.  

He didn't end the conversation with frustration and anger.  He didn't tell him to just trust Him and forget about it.  He didn't tell him to get over it. He didn't spout off Bible verses and platitudes.  

He entered into and engaged with Abraham's pain.

As I was reading, I realized  (perhaps for the first time), that Abraham didn't and wouldn't change God's mind.  God knew what He was going to do.  But God was allowing Abraham to question Him, and therefore to see into His heart — that He is merciful and reasonable and willing to listen. That He cared about what Abraham cared about. 

God is God — all-wise, all-powerful, all-knowing — and He knew all along He was still going to destroy these two cities. Bad things still happen. But He showed He cares, and He will still be there. God entered into Abe’s struggle and truly cared and engaged with Him.  He didn’t leave Him alone to grieve and wonder – He walked right alongside of Him.

This is the one thread of hope I'm holding onto right now.  That in all of this uncertainty - where we could have Really Good Things or Really Bad Things (and probably both), we'll also still have God.  And isn't that what Paul was talking about in Philippians 4? (which was written in a jail cell, by the way):

I have learned to be content with whatever I have. I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything.  I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength.  Philippians 4:12, 13

I can do everything.  I can do this, whatever this is.  Not because I'm awesome.  Or wise.  Or prepared.  But because of Jesus Who is here and gives me the strength to do it.  But it's going to be hard.  And sometimes sad.  Maybe lonely.  But He is there, too.

And I know I have to be there too.  I have to be all in.  I have to listen to Him.  I have to read His words and talk to Him and engage with Him.  It's so tempting to self-protect and hide.

In the next chapter of Genesis, the Very Bad Thing happened.  Fire and burning sulfur rained down on Sodom and Gomorrah and destroyed everything and everyone.  "But God had listened to Abraham's request and kept Lot safe." (Genesis 19:29) An angel escorted Lot and his family out of the city.  So Lot and his daughters (his wife turned into a pillar of salt - which is a whole other story) sought refuge in a small village.  A place to rest and regroup and process through what they'd been through.  To gather close and rebuild and start a new life.

But it wasn't long before fear crept in.  "Afterward Lot left [the village] because he was afraid of the people there, and he went to live in a cave in the mountains with his two daughters." Genesis 19:29  

Okay, I understand his fear.  His wife and his house and his friends and his entire city is gone.  Lot went into self-protection mode.  He found a cave and hid in it.  He isolated himself.  He cowered.  

The opposite of Abraham.  And let this be a lesson to me.  The fear itself isn't the issue - it's what I do with that fear. Abraham engaged with God.  Lot hid from God.

When we are scared and broken we can run from God and cower, or we can run into His arms. It’s only with Him that we will experience healing and help. Hiding in our little cave will only bring loneliness and more fear. Fear breeds fear and we will often make really poor choices when we are afraid. It’s a natural human response to self-protect but God calls us out into the open, into the light, into truth and community.  

A dear friend gifted this to me just before Andy broke his ankle. Little did she know how much comfort it would bring.

And I guess that is my lesson on this leg of the journey - that I am to keep engaging with God through my fear - keep reading, keep talking, keep pursuing, keep listening.  To not give up and hide in the darkness of my fear.  He's always there in the light. I can choose to step out of my cave to be with Him.  And I know from being in the light before, that He is enough. 

Maybe that's a "neat little bow" - I don't know - this is a messy post so it might be a messy bow - but it's what I'm holding onto right now.  

When You Don't Know Where You're Going

I am horrible with directions.  Like, terrible, awful, no good, very bad.  If you give me directions, I begin tuning out when I hear route numbers and street names.  I need landmarks, people.  Turn left at the big white barn with the cows out front.  You know that gas station that has the really good sandwiches?  It's right next to that.  I don't know what my problem is.  It's just not the way my brain works, I guess.  So GPS is my best friend.  I am totally fine and totally in control as long as I've got my GPS and my phone and my voice guidance unmuted.

The other day I was visiting a friend at her new house for the first time.  I knew she lived way out in the middle of nowhere, but she gave me the address and I was confident I could find it with the help of GPS.  I followed that little blue arrow on my phone's map on all the familiar roads, and then it told me to turn right onto her road, which was actually a tiny little country lane.  I paused with my blinker on. The blue arrow said go, so I went.  I inched down the little road sprinkled with houses here and there until I reached an even smaller dirt road with a lone vacant house and "NO TRESPASSING" and "BEWARE OF DOG" signs posted everywhere.  Surely, this cannot be right.  And if it's not right, and I keep going, I'm going to get shot.  I stopped. I looked down at my phone.  The blue arrow told me to keep going, that I hadn't reached my destination yet.  But I couldn't see any farther down the road.  I had no idea what lay ahead - a huge pack of pit bulls?  A farmer with a rifle?  The blue arrow told me to go.  So I went.  Slowly.  Scanning left to right and ready to hit reverse at the first sign of trouble.  I followed that little road and followed my blue arrow and finally reached the cutest little house smack dab in the middle of nowhere.  My blue dot told me I had arrived.  No dog.  No man with a rifle.  And as I stood nervously on the front step, wondering whether to knock on the door or run, the door flung open and my friend embraced me with a welcoming hug.  Whew.  I made it.  Thank goodness for GPS.

I like to know where I am going.  I like feeling like I'm in control, that I know what's ahead, and have prepared for whatever might come.  Which is why I feel so out of control right now.  I don't like this feeling.  I don't like not knowing.  It makes me anxious and it keeps me up at night.

I was reading Genesis this morning.  God told Abram to leave his homeland "and go to the land I will show you."  (Genesis 12: 1)  Hmmmm.....that's a little nebulous. If it were me, I'd demand to know more details.  Exactly where is this land?  When will you show me?  Which way do I start walking?  North?  South?  Will I know anyone there?  Do they have good schools there?  What are the housing prices?  Did you line up a realtor?   

But I guess Abram was okay with it, because verse 4 says, "So Abram departed as the Lord had instructed."  Abram didn't know details.  All he knew was that God was with him, and God had a purpose for this move.  God did tell him He was going to make him into a "great nation."  Hmmmm....what??  At this point, Abram is 75 years old and has no kids.  It's just him, his wife, and his nephew, leaving everything they know to follow God to who-knows-where.

Hebrews 11:8 elaborates a bit more:  "It was by faith that Abraham obeyed when God called him to leave home....He left without knowing where he was going."  

He left without knowing where he was going.

Wow.  If it were me I'd be researching and reading and googling and planning before I even stepped foot out of my house.  And that is precisely what I'm doing right now in preparation to adopt.  I'm arming myself with as much knowledge as possible -- books and blogs, lining up appointments, talking to others who have adopted, reading articles.  And all of this is good and necessary.

A few of the many books I've been reading.

But the fact remains that I have no idea where I am going.  I can't plan for every possibility.  Things are going to happen that are beyond my capability and my knowledge.  There will be no book for that.  And the only thing I'll have in that moment, which is the only thing Abram had, is FAITH.

"We walk by faith, not by sight..."  2 Corinthians 5:7

Faith is not knowing where you are going, but going anyways.  It's knowing what God is asking, and taking that first tentative step towards Him.  It's being full of fear AND full of faith.

We may not know what's ahead, and we might not know what we'll encounter along the way, but we do have some promises.

1)  God is there, with you, next to you, holding you.  He will never leave you.
2)  Our destination, wherever it is, will bring us closer to Him, if we make that our goal.  If our goal is perfection and our focus is ourselves, then we will probably be disappointed.  If our goal is to know Jesus and make Him famous no matter what happens, then that is what will happen.   

This whole process has been one huge lesson in how little control I have.  When I start to panic about some future detail, I say (and sometimes sing, much to Eva's delight): "Let it go!"  I can't control this.  There's SO much I can't plan and prepare for.  There are so many details that are unknown right now.  So I can sit stalled and worry.  Or I can hit reverse and run.  Or I can keep walking down this unfamiliar road and keep trusting that God is here, and God will also be there when we need Him, and that He is making Himself known through this whole journey of faith.

Abram didn't know where he was going, but God knew, and God had a plan bigger and better than Abram could ever have imagined.  Hebrews 11:12: "And so a whole nation came from this one man who was as good as dead -- a nation with so many people that, like the stars in they sky and the sand on the seashore, there is no way to count them."

Our God's alive.  He's working in this world.  He's got plans for us that are beyond our wildest dreams. I don't want to miss out!  I'm going to keep walking, keep trusting, and keep going even though I don't know exactly where I'm going.

The Power of Rest and other Thoughts

Here's my view on this gorgeous fall afternoon.

 It's Thomas Circle in Washington, DC.  Andy had to come here for business and I got to tag along. Someone asked me what I would do all afternoon while he's in a meeting.  Maybe I should have come up with something important, but the truth is, I am going to sleep. And read. And write.  Three things I love to do that I don't get to do very much in real life. 

I'm a true introvert at heart.  You might not know that when you meet me because I love people and can easily interact and talk and get along with most anyone.  I'm not afraid to meet new people or walk into a room where I don't know anyone (although it's definitely not my favorite thing to do).  But after a lot of socializing, I crave time alone.  Time to read, sleep, write. Or even just clean while it's quiet.  And my house is usually far from quiet.  When the kids are there, they are ALL there.  We don't really do a lot of sports or playdates or activities so they're home a lot.  Asking for help with a math problem, squabbling over who took the last granola bar, pulling out the play-dough (joy of all joys).

 I've been thinking about rest lately and how I'm not very good at it.  I have a suspicion that few of us are.  For some reason our society has put a premium on busyness, or at least on the appearance of busyness.  We feel guilty if we aren't producing, cleaning, working, moving, or doing something.

Is it because there is no outcome for rest?  No product to show?  No proof of our value?  

And yet, God rested. He made it a value and built it into his schedule.  Genesis 2:2  says, "God had finished His work of creation so He rested from all His work."  God valued work. And God valued rest.  As someone recently pointed out, He created humans on the sixth day, and rested on the seventh day.  So Adam and Eve's first real day alive was spent in rest with God. 

What a beautiful picture this is!  A day of rest with their Creator in paradise.  If it were me I'd be sipping a cool drink next to a large body of water, but they were probably walking the Garden, discovering and tasting and drinking it all in.  We know that God made it a habit of walking in the Garden during the "cool evening breezes" (Genesis 3:8), so I'm sure God was right there with them, enjoying the fruit of His labor, maybe excitedly pointing out everything He'd dreamed up for them.  Yes, God valued rest and unashamedly and intentionally took the time for it.

I believe it's important to be intentional too.  It's important to look at our weeks and schedule both our work and our rest.  For me, that includes time with my husband, time with my kids, and time for myself.  This doesn't happen by accident.  If I'm not intentional, I will spend all the minutes of my day on mundane and trivial things and wonder where my time went. 

As a couple, we have to schedule our date nights or else they just won't happen.  A couple years ago we also decided to set aside Tuesday nights after the kids go to bed to sit on the couch, debrief the issues in our lives, and pray together.  Sometimes we will linger at the dinner table after the kids go off and play so that we can just have time to catch up on what happened during the day. 

I have to consciously set aside my laundry and crumbs on the floor and go outside and play with the kids, to enter their world for awhile.  Sometimes I schedule a special outing with one of them so that we can have some one-on-one time.  Sometimes we plan intentional family nights - like banana splits and a movie - and put it on the calendar so that they can see it all week and look forward to it.

And now, I'm trying to get better at scheduling rest time for me, without feeling guilty for taking it.  Time to sit and read in the quiet, to journal and reflect and de-stress from the busyness of life.  I love writing and could write on this blog every day if I lived by myself.  Obviously I don't, so I have to carve out time to do it, because this is one thing that fills my soul.  Other times my "rest" is lunch or coffee with a friend.  I think rest can be anything that takes you away from your schedule and fills your soul.  We each need to figure out what that is, and then figure out how to build it into our schedule.

I realize I'm about to enter into a season where I'll have an enormous deficit of alone time.  Once S&A come home, I will have five kids.  FIVE.  Yikes!!  That's a whole lot more laundry, meals, and emotions to take care of.  It's going to be hard for me.  Honestly, it's something that I'm terrified about -- that I will be stressed and stretched and living on the edge of crazy town.  I have no clue how I will carve out time to rest in that season. And yet I also know how ineffective I'll be if I'm hanging on by a thread.  Somehow I will need to figure out how to build time into my day to fill my soul, so that I I can pour myself out to the ones who need me to be present for them.  This is such a journey!  One that I'm still learning how to walk with grace and trust. 

**A little adoption update because I know you want to know!  :)  
--We filed our PAIR paperwork with the USCIS on September 4th, and it was received and processed by September 13th!  That was amazingly fast!!  PAIR is a relatively new process adoptive families must go through.  "The U.S. government has worked closely with the government of Ethiopia to develop the Pre-Adoption Immigration Review (PAIR) process for Ethiopian adoptions.  PAIR will preserve and protect the valuable intercountry adoption program in Ethiopia by providing more safeguards to ensure the program’s integrity."  So basically it ensures that the child is truly an orphan and that the adoption is done with integrity.
--The U.S. Embassy in Ethiopia is now conducting the I-604 investigation, which will determine whether a child meets the definition of an orphan under U.S. immigration law. After this paperwork is completed, we will receive our PAIR letter.
--On October 6th, the courts are supposed to open up after being closed for the rainy season in Ethiopia.
--On October 7th, S&A's grandaunt has an appointment with the court.  She is their only known living relative, and was caring for them before they came to the orphanage.  She is 100 years old!  I hope we are able to meet her when we are there.
--At some point in the next 2-3 months, we should be assigned a court date!
--Our best guesstimate at this point is that we will travel before Christmas for our first trip, where we will be sworn into the Ethiopian courts as their parents.  They most likely will not be home until after Christmas.  But...as always with adoption, it could all move much more quickly, or much more slowly, than we expect.  I'm learning that I really have no control over any of this, so I might as well relinquish control and relax into trust.  

For all the fears we have, we are also ridiculously excited to see these two.  What a sweet reunion it will be!  We met S (our girl) when we were there last November.  Supposedly Andy interacted with A (our boy) but he doesn't remember it.  :) I can't wait to give them hugs and spend time with them and watch him play soccer and just soak up the time with them.  And then about 1-2 months after that, we'll make a second trip to bring them home!  It's all so surreal right now!  

Thanks for praying and partnering with us on this journey!

Power. Love. Hope.

A few days ago we had a brutally honest conversation with a friend who adopted teenagers nine months ago.  All along we've been trying to read books, ask hard questions, and be realistic about what adoption will look like in real life.  It's so easy to romanticize it.  But we want to prepare for the worst and then be surprised, rather than the other way around. But nothing could have prepared me for that phone call.  To respect their privacy, I can't share details, but I'll just say I got off the phone and sobbed.  I felt inadequate, overwhelmed, and scared to death.  Who do we think we are?  How did we think we could do this?  Why are we doing this?? 

Andy and I got on our knees and prayed.  It's all we knew to do.

The next day a friend sent me an email.  It is so profound that I want to share it with you.  I asked her for permission.

First, before we even became pregnant, if God had told me my kids would be sexually abused, my son would be psychiatrically hospitalized 3 times for wanting to kill himself and us at age 7, that he would push me down the steps, bite, kick, and spit on me, hurt his little sister, that we would have 2 long years of crisis where we were often afraid of our safety, that we'd be unable to do so many things that "normal" families do, that we'd have to hunker down and "miss out" on life, that I'd have a son with mental illness -- and so much more, I would've said: "Forget it God! I am not signing up for that!  We are not having kids!"  But I had NO idea!  He knew there was NO WAY we could handle knowing.  But He WENT BEFORE US.  HE KNEW. And He knew He'd be enough.  So what did He do?  He equipped us.  He led me to work with sexually abused children and emotionally disturbed kids.  He had me learn the warning signs of sexual abuse, hospitalize a suicidal 7 year old at the VERY SAME hospital my son went to, He had me spit on and kicked by kids, and I learned to physically restrain, to stay calm in these situations, to TRUST Him and cry out when I had no idea what I was doing.  He trained me - us- to do exactly what we needed to know.  He taught me most of all to lean on Him and trust Him to take over when I couldn't do it.

Katie, I am writing this with tears in my eyes.  I look at what I just wrote and I cannot believe that I am writing about MY life.  I look back and all I see is SUPERNATURAL PEACE.  Peace I have never experienced in my life.  God was never more real or more present.  God was there - He went before us.  He brought my husband and I closer than ever.  And yes, we are in a pretty darn good place right now.  I just called you the other day for advice for my son about SOCIAL issues.  WOW.  That's my biggest concern for him right now - a "normal" kid thing.  But This is not the end. I do not know what's in store.  Maybe it will be my daughter in the future.  But I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW.  Because, honestly, I would probably bail.  But, I know He has gone before us.  He's already there.  And He is training us right now in ways I have no idea about.  I just need to follow Him everyday and trust that He will be there.  Do you know what I heard and hear more than anything else from people who know our story?  "You are the perfect parents for your kids".  Do I feel that way?  No.  But I know they are right.  God created us and trained us perfectly for these very trials.   And all the while He never left us for a second.

So I look at you guys.  You do not know what is coming.  If you knew you may have run from the whole thing.  But you don't know.  What you DO know is this is what God has called you to do.  You do know He has equipped you with exactly what you need.  When Andy Thompson and Katie McCoy were being formed He knew this would be your life.  He went ahead of you and your life has been a training ground for THIS VERY task- HUGE task- He is giving you.  You do know He will be there and will give you supernatural power and peace.  And you do know He will not give you more than you can handle.  When the time comes, you will see all of your tools being used in ways you could never imagine.  YOU TWO ARE THE PERFECT PARENTS FOR S and A.  I know that already.  I see the community you have, the support, and praise God that He has that in place already.  You can see that.  Some tools He has given you are obvious, like that, and others you won't know until you are in the moment.  One thing already that is so God is that you had that conversation yesterday while the kids are ALL at school.  You can focus on Him and process and pray and just think.  Imagine that conversation a week ago when they were home.  GOD's GRACE right there.

I don't know what's in store for you guys but I do know He is there waiting. And you are willing.  That's all you need.  That's what He wants.

I have chills reading that again. 

This morning I came downstairs early to read my Bible.  I opened to Galatians, which I've been reading.  I am in chapter 4 and read this:

Galatians 4:4-7

 My life verse is Romans 8:15, and there it is, right there -- in Galatians 4:6.  Almost the same wording as in Romans.  This is so important that Paul wrote it almost verbatim in two of his letters.  This was Paul's life's work: proclaiming freedom and adoption!

Right now I am full of fear.  Scary fear, like my-life-is-over fear.  It could become all-consuming to the point that I am a slave to fear.  And I have been so focused on my fear that I have been forgetting who I am, and who God is.

Who I am:  I am a child of God. 

Who God is:  God parted seas and healed terminal diseases, tore curtains and raised the dead to life.  He is a God of Power!  He is also a God of Love, who parted heaven and earth to adopt me.  I am adopted!  If you believe in Jesus, you are adopted!  And compared to a holy and perfect God -- we are all the same -- slaves.  Rebellious, lost, and without hope.

But when the right time came, God sent Hope into the world.  And with one act of love, Jesus freed us from ourselves.  And at the moment of belief, God adopts us as His own children.

Life is hard.  It is so hard.  To be honest, there are days that I long for heaven.  But I am here, for this time, and for His purposes. 

I have no doubt that God has called us to adopt teenagers.  And so instead of focusing on myself and my own inadequacies for this task, I have to believe that He has the Power and the Love to do this with me.  He adopted an entire world!! I'm pretty sure He knows how to help me.  Every day I need to remind myself of Who He Is.  And trust.  Trust that He has been equipping us all along for this very thing. And keep trusting that He will be there every step of the way, and give me just what I need for each moment. 

Restore the Years

I feel this heavy cloud of sadness hanging over me right now.  It's like I'm in mourning and can't shake myself out of it.  It's weird though, because I'm mourning two children that I don't know.

When we first entertained the idea of adopting S&A, we thought S was 11 and A was 12.  Then we heard she was 14 and he was 16.  Then we heard no, maybe she's 13.  And then last week we find out that her official birth certificate records her age at 15 years 9 months.

I cannot stop thinking about all the years we have lost with them.  Years of memories.  Years of vacations, report cards, birthdays, holidays, milestones.  Yesterday Eva lost another tooth, and I couldn't help but wonder what it was like for S&A when they lost a tooth.  Was it exciting like it is for my kids?  Did anyone notice?  Did they throw the tooth away or save it?  I'm pretty sure there were no tooth fairy visits for them.  That makes me sad.  I'm sad that we missed out on that.

There are so many things we've missed.  What were they like as babies?  When did they learn to crawl, and who held their fingers as they took those first tentative steps?  What games did they like to play as toddlers?  Who took care of them, nurtured them, cheered them on, celebrated their successes and kissed their boo-boos?

I never in my wildest dreams thought we'd adopt a 16 and a 17 year old.  I mean come on, that is crazy.  Most people apply for babies and toddlers for this very reason --- all the years of nurturing and bonding stretch before you after the homecoming.  It might be hard at first for them to attach to you, but you have years to work that out.  I get that, and honestly, there are days that I want that too.  I'm jealous when I see pictures of adoptive families with little ones, or even older ones - 6, 7, 8 years old. Our kids' parents died when they were that age, and they moved into the orphanage shortly thereafter.  Some days I wish we could've come sooner, would've known sooner, had the chance to intercept their lives at that point instead of seven years later.

But that is my plan.  And God had other plans.  And sometimes God doesn't do what we think He should do.

A wise friend told Andy the other day, "With adoption, remember it's about the child. It's not about what's best for you.  What's best for them is loving them and giving them the opportunity for family."

Adoption is not about me, and what I want, what I think is best.  For reasons only known to Him, God has made it clear that this is the path He chose for our family.  This is what He thinks is best for us, and best for S&A.  The connections and confirmations in those early days are too numerous and too coincidental to suggest anything else.  I'm sad now, and know I need to let myself go through the mourning process. But at some point I need to pick myself up and move forward, in confidence, stepping into the obedience God has asked of us.

And the fact remains that whether these children are 6 or 16, they need a family.  They deserve to belong to someone.  To have five people who will always be there, always cheer for them, always celebrate their birthday, always comfort them when they're hurt.  And they'll always be our kids -- even when they're 40 and we're 60.  They'll always come home to us, to celebrate holidays, to bring the grandkids, to spend time with brothers and sisters.  They'll always be ours.

The prayer I've been praying lately is, "Restore the years the locusts have eaten, God."  The book of Joel in the Bible describes a terrible famine in the land of Judah, a result of a plague of locusts that devoured the crops.  Bible scholars are not sure if this is referring to actual locusts or if its symbolic imagery referring to an invading army.  Regardless, the people are devastated and broken, left with nothing, in despair.  The language is very strong --  "How the cattle moan! Even the flocks of sheep are suffering" (1:18),  "the priests are in mourning," (1:9), "the fields are ruined" (1:10), "the joy of mankind has withered away" (1:12).

But then later Joel begins prophesying about Judah's future: "The Lord will be jealous for His land and take pity on His people.  He sends you abundant autumn and spring rains, as before.  The threshing floors will be filled with grain; the vats will overflow with new wine and oil.

I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten .... and you will praise the name of the Lord your God, who has worked wonders for you."  (Joel 2:23, 25, 26)

The Lord is jealous for these kids.  He sees two children who have no other family to take care of them.  Who are months away from aging out of the orphanage and being forced to make a life for themselves on the streets -- most likely turning to crime or prostitution.   God is jealous for them.  God sets the lonely in families.  God has marked them out for the Thompson family.  We have lost so many years with them, but I'm praying that God will make up for it, in the way that only God can.

Adoption is all about the child, but it's also all about God and the story He is writing, not just for the Thompsons, but for His entire family on earth.  He is jealous for all of us.  God also operates outside of our concept of space and time.  "With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day.  The Lord is not slow in keeping His promise, as some understand slowness.  He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance." 2 Peter 3:8-9  I've been so focused on the days we've missed out on that I am forgetting the very truth of God.

Days don't matter to him. People do.  He is waiting for us. He will not return until He's given everyone a chance to belong.   He is jealous for us.  He desperately wants us in His family.  He pursues each one of us with abandon. He fights for us.  Our past doesn't matter - what matters is the present - saying yes to Him now.  And as soon as we do, He promises to restore every moment we were apart from Him.  To heal and redeem and pay us back for the years we lost.  And He has eternity to do it.

I'm sad today, but I'm trusting.  I'm remembering promises.  And I'm looking forward to that day when they will belong to us, and we to them.  That will be a day for rejoicing.  The day when we praise God for what He's done, and look forward with anticipation to all that He is going to do.

Pray Very Earnestly

***If you're new here, let me explain a few things so that you will understand this post. Our family is in the process of adopting two kids from Ethiopia.  They are siblings and have been living in an orphanage for about 6-7 years.  Their parents are both dead and they have no family members who could take care of them.  They are also teenagers. To protect them, we need to refer to them as S&A.  A is the older sibling, S is his younger sister.  We began the process in March and turned in our completed home study in June.  Then we began to work on our dossier, hoping to turn that in to Ethiopia at the end of the summer.  If everything went smoothly, we were hoping to travel to Ethiopia in early spring 2015 and have them home by late spring.***

Last week we received a very unsettling phone call.  Our agency was able to obtain S's official birth certificate, and according to her birth date, she is actually 15 years, 9 months --- we believed she was around 13 or 14 years old.  We felt shocked, sad, and fearful.  As soon as she turns 16, she (and her brother) is no longer eligible for adoption, and the U.S. will not allow us to adopt either of them. We thought we had about 2 years to get everything completed --- turns out we have a little over 2 MONTHS.  Our agency said to get everything done on our end and be ready to travel to Ethiopia this August (!!) to appear in court to become their parents.

We kicked into high gear and finished all the paperwork for our agency.  We notarized all documents that needed it.  We contacted our references and asked them to get their letters notarized.  I went to our county's circuit court and then the Secretary of State in Annapolis to get documents certified for our dossier.  In 3 days we finished our dossier. Andy called our state senator and asked him to appeal to the USCIS (United States Customs and Immigration Services) to have our paperwork expedited.  We don't have time to sit on this.  We could lose them both.

But there's one thing that could hold everything up.  One important piece of paper and one person who refused to help us get it.  Andy carefully explained our situation, explained that if we waited the full 75 days (we were told that it would take that long to process) for this one document, it would be too late and S and A would both age out of the system and we would not be able to adopt them.  The answer we received yesterday -- NO.

So Andy called and left a detailed message.  And wrote another email, explained again. And now we wait for this man to decide our fate.  It's a completely helpless feeling.  It's frustrating.  We're exhausted. We've done everything we can do and it might not be enough.

Studies show that every 2.2 seconds, another orphan ages out, becoming too old to remain in foster or orphanage care, with no family and no place to call home.  60% of girls become prostitutes and 70% of boys become criminals.  We met some of these girls during our trip in November at a ministry called Women At Risk.  This is a program to help former prostitutes get off and stay off the streets by learning English and a trade to support themselves and their children.  The women we met were open-hearted and precious, some were as young as 16, and all had been working as prostitutes just weeks  or months before we met them. I can't even let myself imagine what life would be like for S&A if this adoption doesn't happen.  I can't go there.

Some of our friends from Women At Risk

This morning I woke early and came downstairs to read my Bible as I always do.  I'm reading through Acts right now and opened to Acts 12.  Peter, one of Jesus' close friends, has been arrested by King Herod Agrippa.  The king placed him under the guard of 4 squads of 4 soldiers each.  16 armed guards for 1 man, bound in chains.  

"But while Peter was in prison, the church prayed very earnestly for him."  Acts 12:5

This verse gripped me this morning.  Peter's case looks hopeless.  Believers are being persecuted.  James was just killed.  Peter has already been arrested once before.  Stephen was stoned to death.  Herod plans to put Peter on trial after the Passover holiday.  And he's being guarded by 16 trained-to-kill Roman soldiers.

"But the church prayed very earnestly for him."

There was no way out, but they prayed.  There was very little hope, but they prayed.  They couldn't imagine a good ending to this story, but they prayed.  

And God showed up.  Quite literally.  It's hard for us to even imagine this, but an angel appeared in Peter's prison cell and told him to get up, get his shoes on, and follow him.  (I may have forgotten to mention that Peter was chained to two guards at the time.)  "And the chains fell off his wrists. So Peter left the cell, following the angel."  Acts 12:7, 9  While the guards slept.

Could the church have imagined this outcome when they were praying earnestly?  I doubt it.  I'm sure they had no idea what to expect or how God would answer, or if God would answer.  

But they prayed earnestly anyways.  

Friends, I'm asking you to pray earnestly.  I have no idea what is going to happen.  I know prayer is not a formula.  {If I pray hard enough, then God will answer the way I want Him to.}  NO.  God doesn't operate like that.  Prayer is still a mystery to me. I don't fully understand it.  But I know I'm supposed to do it, with faith, and leave the outcome to Him. 

Our case looks hopeless.  We have two months to get our paperwork to Ethiopia, have it translated, get it filed with their courts and processed, and appear before a judge there.  We have 87 days until S turns 16 and is no longer adoptable.  This one document we need takes "75 days to process."  We have everything else for our dossier.  Mr. Jose from USCIS is refusing to expedite that one document we need.  

"God presides over heaven's court; He pronounces judgment on the heavenly beings. Give justice to the poor and the orphan; uphold the rights of the oppressed and the destitute.  Rescue the poor and the helpless."  Psalm 82:1,3,4

But God rules.


As our dear friend once said, "Sometimes God just likes to flex His muscles."  We are scared, but we're choosing to trust. God, please flex your muscles.

 And by the way, we're not going down without a fight.  #prayveryearnestly

Frogs and Thanksgiving in Ethiopia

This story has been burning in my heart and I've been waiting for the words to come.  It's one of my favorite experiences of all the things we did in Ethiopia.

It was Thanksgiving Day.  In America, that means turkey and stuffing, football and naps, and the best part, family gathered together to celebrate and be thankful.  But we were in a foreign country, many miles away from loved ones.  And oh, there are no turkeys in Ethiopia.

Andy and I awoke that morning and shared a simple breakfast in the dining room of our hotel.  We then walked over to another hotel to meet up with Ethiopia Smile, a group that travels to Ethiopia " to care for orphans, widows, and the elderly with obvious dental infection". We had been connected with Moody Alexander, the leader of Ethiopia Smile, through a series of events preceding our trip and felt privileged to join their team for two days.

To be honest, it was pretty intimidating to walk into a lobby and meet forty strangers, who all obviously knew each other.  We searched the room and found Sammy and Beza, and the four of us stood nervously in our matching t-shirts, waiting for instructions.

After a group picture, we piled into vans and set out for the neighborhood of Kare Kore, an impoverished community on the outskirts of Addis Ababa.  We had no idea what to expect, but knew that Andy would be doing his thing (dentistry) while Sammy and Beza helped translate.  I would be a "patient buddy."  And Dawson, a history teacher from Texas (who we'd just met that morning), would be Andy's assistant.

That day our team, partnering with the Lelt Foundation, would be providing dental care (extractions) for the men, women, and children who lived in the area of Kare Kore.  "The Lelt foundation provides nutritional and educational support to impoverished children in Ethiopia, and enables their parents to start their own sustainable small businesses." 


As our vans pulled up to their main building, my eyes were drawn to the small crowd gathered under a makeshift tent, erected to keep them out of the already blazing sun.  A small gate fashioned out of sticks kept the crowd in one place until we were ready for them.  I noticed a group of curious children pressed up against the gate, probably wondering what these feringes (non-Ethiopians) were going to do to them.  I was drawn to them and felt a strong desire to connect with them somehow.  Pulling a small journal out of our backpack, I ripped out a bunch of paper and began making origami frogs.  I had learned this valuable skill at sixth grade camp, and perfected it through the years.  As a child, I would make paper frogs anytime I was bored - at school, at restaurants, in waiting rooms.  (This was before the days of ipods.  Kids were forced to entertain themselves with paper- haha!).  The frogs are not only cute, but if you press on the back side, they actually jump!


As I started folding the paper, the kids gathered around, watching intently.  After finishing the first frog, I held it up for them to see, and then made it jump through the fence into the group of kids.  They laughed and smiled and began chattering away in Amharic.  I asked them to teach me how to say "frog."  Inkurarit.  They laughed and laughed as I butchered the pronunciation.  One little girl, determined to learn, sat in front of me watching as I made half a dozen more frogs.  She then motioned for a piece of paper, and that smart little one did it on her first try.  She beamed proudly, holding up her inkurarit for all the others to see.

One of my biggest fears in anticipation of traveling to a foreign country was that I would offend someone - that I would be ignorant of their culture and their customs and would inadvertently offend with my words or actions.  I prayed desperately that God would help me to connect with the people I met, and that the love and respect in my heart would transcend any cultural barriers.  This sweet time with those children, making paper frogs of all things, was such an answer to that prayer.  We couldn't communicate, yet I was able to speak the universal language of play and fun and laughter.  It's the children that your heart most breaks for.  The innocent ones, the ones who haven't yet learned to distrust, or to fear, or to abandon hope.  They come simply, without reservation, and they give freely - hugs, smiles, trust.  Oh, how I adore the children we met on our trip there.


At some point they called me away and told me I had to start working.  :)  I was so excited to be a patient buddy.  I loved the concept that Moody and his team had developed from previous trips.  Each patient would begin at triage, where a doctor would assess their needs and write on a dental bib which teeth needed to be extracted.  They would then be paired with a patient buddy who would walk them through the entire process - from waiting, to the procedure, to the pharmacist.  While in the chair, the patient buddy would hold the patient's hand, whispering soothing words, and basically being a presence of peace in a potentially terrifying situation.  These people have never been to a dentist.  All they know is that they are in pain, and that there are people here to help.  Needles and gauze and the strange metal tools are all foreign to them.  So, to have one person by their side, holding their hand (literally) through the process, seemed to put everyone more at ease.

The day was extremely fast paced.  As soon as I finished with one patient buddy, another one was waiting. The line of people waiting to be seen never seemed to diminish.  And the building we were working in was not large.  Patients sat in plastic lawn chairs with their heads propped up against the wall.  Small tables were set up next to them to hold the dental tools and supplies needed for each procedure.  Each doc had an assistant and in some cases, a translator.  We were crammed into two rooms, constantly tripping over each other and bumping into each other.  We never stopped for lunch.  I grabbed a bite of a protein bar and a swig of water whenever I had a few seconds in between patients.  It was hot.  I had to squat on the floor next to the patient and try to stay out of the way of everyone else.  My knees began to ache. My hands hurt from the pressure of nervous patients squeezing the life out of them.  We didn't stop all day.

 And I loved every. single. minute.

Waiting in triage

Beza helping translate during a difficult procedure

Sterilized tools

One particular patient stood out to me.  He was a young-looking man, quiet and slight of build.  His clothing was threadbare and old and smelled of dirt and filth, his shoes a size too big and almost worn through the soles.  I was paired with him and my first thought was, "How in the world am I supposed to comfort him?  He's a man.  He is NOT going to want some white girl holding his hand." 

We found out he is 37 years old.  I touched his arm and smiled.  "I am 37 years old too!"  He just looked at me.  His eyes were wild with fear and I could feel his body trembling as he lay back on the table.  Andy took a few minutes to pray for him while Sammy translated.  Without thinking, I reached down and grabbed his hand with both of my hands and started praying silently for him.  He was a hard case.  He had big teeth with big roots, and it took Andy over 45 minutes to extract two teeth.  This man probably had been in pain for years, and had learned to live with it.  The wild fear never left his eyes, but over the course of time, I felt him begin squeezing my hand back.  If he was forced to let go of my hand (in order to spit, or take a drink, or wipe his mouth), he immediately grabbed my hand again and squeezed hard.

 I don't even know this man's name, and yet I feel a connection to him, and an affection for him, that is indescribable.  For him to let me comfort him during a time where he was probably "supposed" to be strong and immovable - that was an incredibly humbling experience for me.  To meet him in his fear and vulnerability, and be able to stand in the gap for him, praying peace over him, is one of the most significant things I have ever done.  Such a small thing, yet such a monumental thing.  I witnessed the amazing, healing power of touch and it is an experience I will never forget.

Some people argue that missions trips are an ineffective way to help.  They say the money spent to travel could be better utilized if it was given directly to the ministries already set up in-country.  My question is: Why can't we do both?  I don't deny that there are incredible ministries in Ethiopia, Haiti, India, China, etc. that would benefit greatly from our financial support.  And we should give.  On the other hand, sometimes we also need to go there and see and love and touch and be broken.  Witness the beauty of other places, other people, other cultures.  To give our statistics (153 millions orphans) a name and a face.  To hold one in our arms and weep, and come back home and put that picture on our mirror and pray, and tell the story to someone else.  There is value in our presence.  There is healing in our touch - not just for them, but for us.  When you have a story and a face, you have a connection.  Connection leads to compassion, and compassion moves us to action.

Thanksgiving 2013 is one I will never forget.  We ended the day by celebrating Sammy's birthday with a delicious Italian meal and amazing conversation with new friends.  We fell into bed exhausted and spent, but so very fulfilled.  When you spend yourself for others, you always come away filled.  It's a formula that doesn't add up, but somehow it's always true when you're doing it for love.  We love because we are loved.  (I John 4:19)  We reach out because Jesus reached out to us.  Jesus walked among us, touching, healing, loving, connecting.  And when He left the earth for the final time, he said, Now you go, and you do what I did.  Be My hands and feet wherever you go. (Matthew 28:18-20)

We don't have to travel to a foreign country to be His hands and feet (although if you ever have the chance, GO!).  There are opportunities right here.  We have to make ourselves available though.  We have to let down our guards and open our hearts.  Be ready when God puts someone in our path.  Be willing to step out of a comfort zone.  God's willing to use anyone, but we have to be the ones to say, "Yes."

As Matthew West urges in his song, "Do Something" --
We are the salt of the earth
We are a city on a hill
But we’re never gonna change the world
By standing still

God, may I run this race hard!  Never stopping, never giving up, always looking up.  Ready to act, ready to go, ready to do whatever You ask me to do.