The Dark Road

This is a hard one to write, and even harder to share.  It's raw and vulnerable, and I'm not always comfortable putting myself out there like this.  But I also feel like the words are burning my fingertips and I have to write.  My heart is pounding, which is always a sign that it's time to speak up.  It's not easy.  Truth-telling never is.  It's much easier to hide and pretend and slap on a smile.  But I'm learning that's just not me.  So, here goes.

I feel like I am emerging from the darkness of Monday and Tuesday.  It was bad.  I was in a bad place - emotionally, spiritually.  I felt heavy and sad, like I couldn't catch my breath.  Hopeless.  The devil toyed with my mind -- all the what-ifs and what-thens -- sending me spiraling down into a pit of doubt and fear.  My mind settled into all the worst case scenarios, bringing up every negative conversation, article, and book I've read, twisting all the words into a web of pure terror.  And I got tangled up.  I believed the words.  "You're not cut out for this."  "You'll never make it."  "This will ruin you and your family."  It consumed me. I could think of nothing else.  And nothing could console me.

Nothing, except Jesus.

I've been down this road before.  It's a familiar road, this dark place.  My first memory of it was in college, and I almost succumbed to it.  I was ready to give up and give in to the hopelessness, the unworthiness.  I was weary of fighting it, and I was done.  I took a walk by myself and spent hours roaming the woods, thinking, debating.  I didn't feel strong enough to fight anymore.  And yet I also didn't feel strong enough to give up.  I had to do something.   I needed help.  And I believe, for the first time, that I asked Jesus to be the One.  Not to save me -- I did that as a child.  No, it wasn't my salvation on the line.  It was my sanctification.

That's a big word that just means to be made holy.  I had to decide who I was going to make holy in my life - me or Jesus.  If it was me, then I had to fix everything.  I had to be in control.  I had to call the shots.  I had to make everything work.  Except that wasn't working so well for me.

I knew I was desperate and lost.  I knew I wasn't strong enough.  I knew I couldn't fix myself.  I had nowhere else to go.  And so I fell into the arms of Jesus.

He became my Friend.  I would literally roll out of bed and onto my knees every single morning before I started my day.  I prayed a simple prayer: "This day is Yours.  I can't do this by myself, but I can do it with You.  Help me, Jesus."  I devoured my Bible and the familiar words became personal to me, for probably the first time.  I wrote verse after verse in my journal, claiming promises as my own.  I spent hours with Jesus, and He spent hours pouring His healing love into me.  He taught me that I can trust Him, that He's enough, that He's always there.  He showed me that He is jealous for me, that He wants to be my first love.  At the risk of sounding like a lunatic, it felt like I was falling in love.  I couldn't get enough of Him.  I wanted to know more, wanted to understand His love.  And He showed me.  I belong to Him.  I am cherished.  I am adored.  I am accepted for who I am, not what I do.  He pursues me.  He will stop at nothing for me.  I am His daughter.

The knowledge of the depths of this love changed the fabric of my being.  I no longer had to be the strong one.  I didn't have to be in control and have all the answers.  I had Someone who would step in and be that when I couldn't.  Me and Jesus?  We got this.  His love made me strong.

So yes, I have been down this road before -- back then and many times since.  Some times are shorter than others.  It's always awful and I always feel like I'm drowning.  And yet in some twisted way I wouldn't trade any of it for the easy road.  Because it's always on the hard road of suffering that I meet my Jesus.  It's the only place where I'm so desperate for Him that He has to show up.  It's where I feel Him the most and where I've learned to let Him carry me.  It's where I've learned the most about Him.  They are terrible times but looking back they are also sweet times, because every time my faith grows deeper and my knowledge of Him grows wider.  To truly know someone is to truly love them. 

The dark road is not easy.  But I have learned what to do when I'm there.  I know I need to counteract the darkness with light.  I need to fill my mind with truth.  There is tremendous power in the words of God.  I don't fully understand that power, but I know it is real.  I search the Bible and find verses to write in my journal.  I post them on index cards.  I try to read them over and over throughout the day.

The Lord is my light and my salvation -- so why should I be afraid?  The Lord is my fortress, protecting me from danger, so why should I tremble?  Though a mighty army surrounds me, my heart will not be afraid.  Even if I am attacked, I will remain confident.  Psalm 27:1-3

I also listen to worship music.  I was sharing some of my fears with a friend on Monday and instead of trying to fix me, she played two worship songs for me, over and over.  If you haven't heard them, or even if you have, look them up: "Great Things" and "Your Promises" by Elevation worship.  There is something so healing about music.

Thank You for the wilderness
Where I learned to thirst for Your Presence.
If I'd never known that place
How could I have known You are better?
Thank you for the lonely times
When I learned to live in the silence.
As the other voices fade
I can hear You calling me, Jesus.
And it's worth it all just to know You more.
"Great Things (Worth it All)" by Elevation Worship

I also find someone to talk to, who won't give out advice or judge me.  Someone who will listen, and pray.  On Tuesday I sat in a grocery store parking lot, crying, while a friend prayed for me over the phone.  It was powerful, and it was healing.  Later that evening, my husband and I sat on the couch and prayed together.  Again, I don't fully understand the power of prayer, but I know it is real.

Friend, if you are struggling today, run to Jesus.  He's the Only One who will truly understand you, truly accept You, truly love you.  His love is limitless and pure.  He is enough.

You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule. You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.  Matthew 5:4,5

Presence

In case you were wondering, the wait between court and embassy is excruciating.  We spent five straight days with the kids and then we had to leave them, with no definite date of when we'd be back. Twenty days ago we said goodbye.  Twenty days they have been getting up without us, going to school without us, eating meals without us, going to bed without us.  I can only imagine the doubt and fear that begins to creep in.  While we were with them, both kids told us stories of friends from the orphanage whose adoptions fell through for one reason or another.  One girl had met a family who promised to come back and adopt her.  They never did, and she doesn't know why.   I know these stories haunted them during the almost-year-long wait for us to come.  They found out they were being adopted last March, and we were not able to even come meet them until the next February.  We sent letters when we could and we Skyped once.  But it wasn't enough.  They needed to see us, spend time with us, hear our reassurances that we are a family.  I know they got tired of waiting.  I know they asked anyone that knew the situation what was taking so long.  We tried to explain in our letters that there's so much paperwork, so many hoops to jump through.  But that doesn't make sense to a child who is longing for a family.  They just want to be with us. 

We had so much fun with Samri and Abel that week.  We went into this trip with no expectations -- number one because we didn't want to place unfair expectations on them and number two because there is no category for that kind of experience.  We got on a plane to travel halfway around the world to meet our Ethiopian teenage children for the first time.  That in and of itself is a bizarre sentence.  So we tried to stay completely open, hearts ready for anything.  And over the course of five days, our hearts became smitten by these two precious children.

We had a lot of incredible experiences in Ethiopia.  We walked the grounds of the Sheraton, one of the most opulent hotels I've even seen.  We ate at a five star restaurant which was hosting a UN meeting at the same time we were there.  But my favorite memories were when we were just hanging out, talking, laughing, being a family.  There is this amazing coffee shop in Ethiopia named Kaldi's - very similar to our Starbucks.  The macchiato there is to die for.  We had spent a long day out at a resort, outside all day playing ball and enjoying the sunshine.  As we were driving back it got dark and the kids missed their dinnertime at the orphanage, so we decided to grab a bite to eat at Kaldi's along with Sammy and Yilli.  As we were waiting for our food, we began drawing on napkins, asking them to write our names in Amharic (their national language).

The Sheraton

Fancy restaurant

Kaldi's

Amharic is similar to Arabic in that it uses characters.  Each letter of the alphabet has several sounds, and therefore several characters.  There are about 250 characters in all.  My name "Katie has two sounds - Kay and Tee - so there are two characters for my name.  We would ask them to draw our names, and then we would attempt to draw them, and then we would all laugh.  Andy calls the characters "little dancing people" and made up a little story for each one, which made everyone laugh.  We played cards and teased each other and laughed some more.  And then we had one of the most delicious meals - sambusa and fries.  Sambusa are little fried dough triangles filled with lentils or meat.  It was such a normal thing to do - hang out, laugh, play cards, eat.  And that is what I am looking forward to most -- being together as a normal family.

My name in Amharic

Sambusa

I knew going into the week that we would have to say goodbye and wait.  But I wasn't prepared for how heart-wrenching it would be.  I wasn't prepared to come home and feel like half my heart was missing.  I wasn't prepared for the grief I would feel every day.  I wasn't prepared for the knots in my stomach knowing that they were missing us too.  I don't know what else to do except pray for them every time I think about them.  I pray that God will be present, will take care of them, will keep them safe, will be their family in our absence.  I can't shake the feeling sometimes that I should be the one there comforting them, hugging them, drying their tears.  But I know God has been with them up to this point and promises to be with them now.  And I have to trust Him to take care of them.

This whole journey has been about trust, from Day 1.  This whole blog is about trust.  My faith has been stretched in so many different directions in all of this.  I think I'm learning there are many facets to faith, because there are so many different fears inside of us.  In the very beginning, I was afraid of going to Ethiopia.  And God taught me to trust Him, that He was wherever I was, and that He would be there with me.  I've been afraid of so many things, some never even spoken.  And each time God whispered, "I understand, and I'm here." The answer to our doubt and fear is always His Presence.  Even if we can't feel Him, He's there.

I remember when I first had Sophia and knew there was a little person sleeping nearby.  For twenty-seven years I slept when I wanted, how I wanted.  And then overnight I became trained to hear that little cry and respond immediately, walking over to her, picking her up, soothing her, letting her know she was safe now.  That's how I picture God responding to us.  He is trained to hear our voice, to know our needs, and to respond immediately with His gentle and loving presence.

And that's why I need to lean even harder into Him, because He's the One who will always be there for all five of my children.  I'm not always going to be able to meet all their needs, even though I desperately want to.  My heart is aching because I cannot physically be there right now for Samri and Abel. And yet I know that there will be a day when I let them down.  I know that because I fail the other kids all the time.  I want my children to know the One who never fails.  The One who never leaves.  The One who always responds.  I cannot always be there.  But He promises to be.

And so in these excruciating days, that's my prayer.  That my five children will know that kind of love.  That Jesus will be there with them in the joy and the disappointments.  That they will learn to hear His voice and be comforted by His love.  As much as my heart is bursting with love for these precious ones, He gave His heart away for them.  He gave it all up for them.  And I can trust Him to parent them both in my absence and soon my presence too.  He's my Dadddy, and He's their Daddy.  And I do trust Him. 

But God

Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see.  Hebrews 11:1

It's official!  We are a family of SEVEN - Andy, Katie, Abel, Samri, Sophia, Eva, and Jonas Thompson!  Last week we were in Ethiopia to finalize the court decision. We had to appear before a very serious judge, answer about twenty questions, and then we received the approval to become Samri and Abel's parents.  It was a joyous day and we left from there to celebrate with them over cheeseburgers and glass bottles of soda.

This story - it's an incredible one - but it's just the middle of the story.  There's so much more to tell from before, and so much more to be written.  It's also not our story.  The more this unfolds, the more aware we become that this is God's story and we are privileged to be part of it.  Seriously, there are days it takes my breath away -- this honor of partnering with God in His incredible story.  I'm not sure if I can ever do it justice with mere words.

There's one part of the story that I'd like to write now though, one that began years ago, and involves a bold girl and a faith-filled boy.  I'll start with the boy, whose name is Abel, who is now our son.  He told me this part of the story last week as we were driving in a van to spend the day at a beautiful resort.  We had about an hour and a half in the car and it was dusty and loud and I was peppering him with questions, trying to get a feel for who he was and what he was like.  The day before, the court declared him my son, this grown boy-almost-a-man, and I knew I had a lifetime of experiences to catch up on.  Somehow throughout the course of our conversation a story emerged from his past,  I'm guessing from a few years ago.

 He said there were five boys, including him, who all lived at the orphanage together and all prayed for a family.  These five friends all wished for and prayed for this together.  Over time, two of the boys were adopted and moved to America.  The other two boys left the orphanage to go back and live with their parents -- one was a bad situation, and one was an okay situation.  And that left Abel, alone, getting older, getting closer and closer to aging out.  He said he felt lonely every night and cried because he was the only one left of those five praying friends.  He figured that God had given up on him and that God must not be real, because he had prayed, and God didn't answer.  And so he stopped praying, and he stopped believing.  But God didn't stop believing for him.

Time went by, and Abel found himself listening to a message at church, one which explained that sometimes bad things happen in life and life can be very difficult and hard to understand.  But that we must never give up hope, and we must always keep praying, because God has good things planned for us.  And that day Abel decided to start praying again for a family.  Time went by, and he was told he only had four months left before he would need to leave the orphanage (children age out around 16 years old).  He and his sister would be separated and he would have to go find his way on his own.  But God had a plan for this boy, this precious one who refused to give up hope.

Not long after this crisis of faith he found out that he and his sister were going to be adopted.  A family had started the process to adopt them.  And that was us, probably right around March of last year, 2014.

This boy had wrestled with faith, as we all do at some point in our journeys.  Because life IS hard.  Things happen which throw us off course,  that create fear and panic and doubt.  We wonder, "Where are you God? I've prayed and asked and you didn't answer me."  And we are tempted to give up, throw in the towel, and walk away forever.  But God -- He never, ever, not for ONE second gives up on us. The journey took longer than expected, and things have happened along the way that were confusing and difficult.  But God was there all along the way, just waiting for the right time to begin the rest of the story.

But let's not leave out the bold girl, who you know is Samri, and is now our daughter.  Two summers ago, a team from our church went to Ethiopia for a missions trip.  They visited many different places, one of which was the orphanage.  When they go to this orphanage, their sole purpose is to spend time with and love on the kids -- children who don't receive one-on-one attention on a regular basis.  It's more of a being than a doing.  They don't paint walls, they don't organize closets -- they just sit on the ground and play and laugh and talk and hug.  It's vital and necessary and such a beautiful way to serve.  My dear friend Ashley was the leader of this trip.  As of today, she has been to Ethiopia eight times.  She loves this country and this people and she had been to this orphanage before.  But on this particular visit, she spent some one-one-one time with a young girl, and over the course of their conversation, this girl made a bold request:  "Can you find me a family?"  Ashley was taken aback; how do you answer that question?  She said, "I will take your picture, and I will show it to everyone I know, and I will pray that there is a family out there that will adopt you."  But Samri said, "Wait, I have a brother!"  She ran to get Abel, and Ashley snapped their picture along with the promise to tell their story to everyone she knew.

Ashley returned to America, and we invited her over.  We wanted to see her pictures and hear about her trip.  It was a gorgeous summer evening and we had finished dinner and we were sitting on our back deck.  She told us many stories, including the one of Samri.  She cried, we cried.  It moved us, and stirred something within us.  After she left, Andy turned to me and said, "Are we the ones that are supposed to adopt them?"  And I remember responding with an emphatic, "NO!"  Are you crazy?  Our lives are chaotic enough!  There's no way I could handle 5 kids!  And they are older kids!"  (We thought they were 11 and 12 years old at the time).  When people adopt, don't they adopt babies?  But we agreed we would pray for them, along with anyone else that was also praying for them.  But God had a plan that He was slowly revealing to all of us.

The first picture we saw of Samri and Abel

Samri and Ashley

In November of that year we had the incredible opportunity to go to Ethiopia ourselves, through a series of events that is a different story altogether.  I chronicled that journey in the beginning part of this blog, which you can read here and here.  We ended up meeting Samri along with many other children when we visited the orphanage.  But our hearts were not in ANY way thinking about adoption at this time.  I snapped a few pictures and that was it.  But God was writing a story.  When I returned from that trip, my heart was different.  I had fallen in love with God's work there, with the people we met, with the ministries where we served.  I asked a friend to fast and pray with me every Monday morning and we both committed to pray for Ethiopia and all the people we loved there.

And you know what happened, if you know us, because we have told our part of the story so many times, where God merged all of our stories into one.  As I prayed for many people in Ethiopia, there was one name and one face that was always present in my heart: Samri.  I couldn't stop thinking about her and her story, my heart breaking that it was going on another year with no hope for a family.  And then there was that infamous Valentine's Day of 2014, when I found out she was older than eleven -- she was 14 and her brother was 15 and at 16 he would have to leave.  And I cried and cried all day long, knowing what that meant for her and her brother, the only family she had.  And I ruined our romantic Valentine's Day dinner that evening, as I cried again and spilled these thoughts to Andy, who was shocked, but responded with openness to what God was moving in me.  We barely finished eating that night, but we prayed.  God, these two kids are on our hearts.  We don't have any idea what that means for us, but we feel the need to do something for them.  We begged Him to tell us what our family could do, and didn't have any idea what that might be.  But God did.

Five days later, Andy fell and broke his ankle in three places, and this part of the story has so many twists and turns and amazing connections I cannot possibly capture it in this blog post. I can sum it up by saying: When God opens a door and beckons you in, and you walk through trembling in obedience and fear, He takes the lead from there.  In the midst of a huge trial, He was faithful, He followed through, He did things beyond our imagination.  And as I have gotten to know other parents in the adoptive community, I'm learning that this is not unique to us.  Everyone has an incredible adoption story, full of miracles and events that only God could engineer.  I'm learning that God's heart beats for the orphan and He will go to incredible lengths to love them and bring them into families.

With adoption, it is not the parents who are rescuers.  We are the rescued, all of us.  We all have been adopted from a life of loneliness and isolation, invited into a family, given a new name, and made heirs to all the benefits and promises of God's family.  I'm realizing we were all orphans before we knew Him, and adoption is a just a small illustration of His plan to redeem and restore all of humanity into His family. He went to great lengths to rescue every single one of us.

But this unfolding of this particular story -- it takes my breath away and brings me to my knees.

It's not going to be all sunshine and roses, as many adoptive parents have written before me.  But then again, neither is life.  God didn't promise a good and perfect life; He promised a good and perfect God who would never leave us as we navigate this uncertain world.  He promises to love us, He promises to be there for us, He promises to never give up on us.  So as we look at the road ahead with hope and some fear, that is what we know we are promising to our five children.  Not that the story of our lives will be always be good and perfect, but that we will be together, this family of seven figuring it out together -- never losing hope, never giving up on each other, always there for each other -- just as God has promised for each and every one of us who joins His family.