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.