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Courageous Living

February 22, 2013 by

Today I am headed to Texas for a rather impromptu girl’s weekend with some of the women who are dearest and sweetest to me. We are going to attend dotMom together and spend an entire weekend laughing, maybe crying a bit, and all around encouraging one another in this thing called life.

I’m learning new things every day right now. New things about who God is – His character and nature and innate longing for us to love Him. I’m seeking and watching and praying and I finally feel a true sense of…dare I say – HOPE?!

There’s a next step for us in this journey to defend the orphan. I’m probably not finished crying or mourning the end of my dream, though I do think/hope I had my final ugly cry over it this past weekend. And as I once again soaked the sleeve of my husband’s shirt, he reminded me of that thing that is so often easy to forget.

We have been called to live courageously.

Our adoption was not a failure. We are in this place because this is where God wants us to be. This place, this fire, is where we will learn more what is means to be a free lover of Him who created us to live without fear. He has called us – our family – to courageous living. And He’s given us a passion for adoption and orphan care. Oh the excitement that comes from trusting Him. The power that comes when you know that where you are is right where you should be…even if it hurts.

We aren’t done in this pursuit of defending the orphan. We are most certainly not done. Every day we release the fears a little more (at least I do. Apparently I had a lot more fear than I let myself believe). Each day I feel a renewed sense of awe at my husband and his willingness to seek what God would have for our family. I’m so grateful for his support in this time. He hasn’t once asked me to shove these feelings under a carpet. He’s listened, encouraged and pushed me – us – toward greater courage.

There is no real clarity yet and I don’t feel certainty in this path we’re on. But I feel hopeful and even a little excited for the future. God’s not done with us yet.

What a thrill.

Have a blessed and courageous weekend everyone!

Filed Under: Adoption, faith, Family Tagged With: , , , ,

When your soul is not well

February 13, 2013 by

Necklace from Lisa Leonard Designs Necklace from Lisa Leonard Designs

I sat in the front of his tiny boat, my hands gripped to the slippery sides with all the strength I could muster. Huddled beneathe a plastic tarp, I looked at all their faces for some sign that told me it was okay to panic. We were all being brave, laughing nervously to stave off the terror as wave after wave crashed over the sides, the full wrath of the Carribbean falling upon us.

When we set off from Spanish Wells, Bahamas, the sea had been calm. The day was bright, perfect for a short three hour cruise to Nassau. I can’t remember our exact number, but there were a lot of us to pile onto the small boat that day. We were at the tail end of a week long family reunion. This was our Bon Voyage.

The storm came up quickly, as they tend to do over the ocean. Before we knew it, we were hunkered down in a rocking boat with only a few life jackets to go around and though I am almost always game for a grand adventure, on this particular day I wanted nothing more than to get off that boat.

Terrified and sick, I couldn’t see for the wind and the rain. The salty ocean water stung my eyes. And yet every time a wave hit our boat, I felt an odd sense of peace thanks to the man who stood at the helm of the ship, steering us through the storm.

As the boat rocked, he smiled broadly. When the waves crashed hard, he let out a roar of delighted laughter. He did not delight in our fear, but rather in the joy of the ride.

He knew where we were headed and he knew what stood on the other side of the storm.

 

Read more at Kelli Stuart.com

Filed Under: Adoption, Blogging, faith, Grace Tagged With: , , ,

When God Says Dream Bigger

February 6, 2013 by

As the dust of a fallen dream begins to settle and my heartache quells a bit, I find myself at a crossroad. I look to my left and to my right and there are options. One of the roads is easier than others. It’s paved and smooth. This road is lined with vibrant green grass that is meticulously groomed and there isn’t a stop sign in sight.

It’s open. Safe. Secure.

Boring?

Another road is dark. It’s a little gloomy and cloudy. I don’t really know what to expect on that road, but I think it’s backed up rather indefinitely with traffic. Bumper to bumper, no end in sight. Scary.

And there’s another road. It’s straight uphill and quite honestly, I don’t know what I’ll find when I get to the top. The road is gravel and full of potholes. There are stop lights hanging every few feet and it seems as though I may have to push my way to the top here and there.

But it could be exciting.

This is a metaphor…clearly. You knew that already, right?

Oh good.

The good news is, we have options. That is very good news. Option one is to take the safe road. Lee and I could easily chalk this adoption trial up as a failure. We could dust off our hands and turn to the left – the safe road. We could keep moving forward with our three beautiful, biological children. We could quit tucking extra funds aside and finally buy a smokin’ new minivan, that Mac laptop I’ve been coveting and maybe even take our children on a rockin’ vacation.

Safe. Secure.

Boring?

We could continue to wait this adoption thing out or better yet, we could switch to a new country. We could step forward on the next road – the dark and scary one that is currently stalled with the longest red light in the history of ever. But as I’ve found these last few weeks – being stuck in the dark is gloomy and sad.

I need something to look forward to.

This isn’t to say we’ve completely given up on adoption, but for right now we are taking a step back and waiting for direction. It’s coming – slowly – in little tiny puzzle pieces that I think will eventually fit together.

So we turn toward the hard road. This is where we are right now. We’re standing at the crossroad and we’re looking up, waiting for instructions on when and how to move forward.

I’ve spent the better part of the last month asking God why. Why did He bring us to this point?  Two weeks ago, I was an emotional mess. It was the lowest I have ever felt. I could hardly drag myself from my bed and when I did, I was immediately overcome with fatigue and sadness. In my distress and confusion, I cried out to God. I poured out my why as a drink offering, laying my burden of grief at the alter and begging for some sign that He still had a plan.

I opened my Bible and the pages fluttered and fell to Isaiah chapter 1.

Isaiah 1:17 says “Learn to do good; Seek justice, Reprove the ruthless, Defend the orphan, Plead for the widow.”

My initial reaction upon reading this verse was to throw my hands up in exasperation. “That’s what I’m trying to do!” I cried in frustration. But then I had to stop and sit still.

Remember when He told me to wait? How quick I am to forget such things.

And in the two weeks since I read that verse, He has provided sign after sign that He’s not done with us yet. I’m starting to get the feeling that God wants us to dream bigger. He wants us to defend the orphan, but this goes beyond simply adopting. (Hahaha! The phrase “simply adopting” made me laugh out loud. That’s an oxymoron…)

I don’t know what it is we’re supposed to do just yet. I’m waiting. Sometimes I wait patiently. Other times I tap my toe in impatient anticipation.

But this one thing I know without a doubt: We have never been called to live a life of fear and choosing the safe road benefits no one – not us, not our children and it certainly doesn’t help the orphans in distress. So we’re waiting and prying loose tightened fists so we can stand tall and move in freedom toward that which He has placed before us.

Will you pray with us, for both clarity and wisdom? And while we’re praying, can I pray for you? Is there something big and scary looming before you – a path that seems to be a little bit harder? How can I pray?

Filed Under: Adoption, faith, Family, Life Tagged With: , , ,

How do you mourn a dying dream?

January 23, 2013 by

Note: I wrote this post this morning, published it and immediately took it down. I’ve floundered all day about whether or not I should share it, or simply pack it away. Maybe I’m oversharing. Maybe I’m talking too much about adoption stuff. When’s it gonna get funny around here again?! C’mon, lady! Talk more about roaches, or your husband dissing Target, or dudes manning the tables at Victoria’s Secret!

MAKE US LAUGH!

*big sigh*

I finally realized that this place – this little internet place – has become a great space for me to grieve and you guys are so freaking up for the challenge! (The challenge being my crazy emotional state, of course…) The fact is, it’s easier for me to unload my grief when I write it down, and you all have walked right next to us on this entire journey.

So here it is…

I pulled the dirty rubbermaid bin off the shelf today and opened it up. Filled with magazine articles, newspapers, scrapbooks and journals, the bin smells like history.

My history.

I dug through the old journals looking for a very specific book. It was the one I wrote in during my very first visit to Belarus and Russia as a fifteen year old. I wanted to feel the pages and read the words that the younger version of me looped in hapless teenage fashion nearly twenty years ago.

I wanted to see if maybe, just maybe, I had convinced myself of a lie all these years. Maybe I didn’t decide I wanted to adopt on that trip. Maybe I’ve worked up some sort of story in my mind that’s justified all these years of longing and desire.

I wanted to see if I was wrong.

Unfortunately I couldn’t find that journal. It’s somewhere in this house, but currently I don’t know where. But there were a stack of journals from the years following that first trip. Journals starting from the day I turned to sixteen to the day I birthed my first child. Pages and pages of history recorded.

I pulled out the oldest book and dusted it off. It begins on June 4, 1994 – my sixteenth birthday.

Most of the journal is slap your knee hilarious to read. Lord Almighty the angst I lived through in those days. They boys I liked, the confusion I felt. Most of my prayers centered around who I should go to Homecoming with and how to tell a boy I didn’t like him. *eye roll*

(Side note: Tia – please don’t become that girl. Stay oblivious to boys or, if you must notice them, just stick to trying to crush them at every competition.)

But then I came upon the one entry I feared I would find. Sixteen year old Kelli took a break from the perils of teendom and recorded a single, heartfelt plea:

Dear God. I love Russia. Can I go back there someday? Can I work with the orphans again?

That was it. That was all I found, but it was enough to remind me that I didn’t make this dream up. And as I flipped through the pages of the rest of the journals, the common theme followed me. A love for Russia and Ukraine. And prayers to someday adopt began to appear with regularity in the journals starting in 2000 – the year Lee and I got married.

The dream really was there a long time ago and today I am very, very slowly letting it go.

I don’t have anything to bury in the physical sense. I kind of wish I did. Would there be more closure if I placed this dream in the earth? I don’t know. Perhaps I will get to that point. Maybe I will do that eventually. Today I’m just coming to terms with it.

The very honest fact of the matter is this: Our Russian adoption is very, very unlikely to proceed. There are still diplomatic discussions taking place between our two countries, but Lee and I have come to a place where we must face reality.

I’m doing okay, really. I think I did most of my heavy mourning last week. This week I am simply…well, I’m sad (and a little bit foggy headed), but also hopeful. I am still very, very hopeful.

Thank you to so many of you who have been calling and writing. I really can’t explain to you what it means to me to be poured into the way you have encouraged me. One friend emailed last week and shared with me something I had never before considered. An excerpt from her email:

 The words “wait” and “hope” are often translated from the same Hebrew word.

Isaiah 40:31: “Those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary.”

The word “wait” there is qavah, which means “to look for, hope, expect… to wait or look eagerly for.”

May you, Lee, Sloan, Tia, and Landon take courage as you continue to wait and hope, because of the One on whom you are waiting and in whom your hope rests.

While it seems that my dreams of adopting from Russia are coming to an end, I’m not entirely sure my dreams of adopting a child are ending. I spoke with another dear friend yesterday who gave me the freedom to mourn this loss before immediately moving on.

Because this really is a loss. One doesn’t easily give up a lifelong dream. I am allowing myself the space needed to release this heartache before moving on. And in the meantime, we are researching our options and praying for a new revelation – a common dream.

The kids and I discussed this development yesterday and I was so concerned with how they might react. But they surprised me – especially Tia. After we talked about it, I stood at the table and brushed her hair. She is my child who locks things up inside so I wanted to pry a little to see what she was thinking.

“Are you okay with everything that’s going on with the adoption?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said with a nod.

“Good. If you want to talk about anything or have questions, let me know okay?”

“Okay.” She turned and locked eyes with me. “I’m just gonna wait for my little sister to come home…Hey Mom! Can I have some Nutella?”

You know how you mourn a dying dream? You lean on the faith of a child and you eat a little Nutella.

You can read more about our adoption journey here.

Filed Under: Adoption Tagged With: , , , ,

I Dare You to Follow Along

January 16, 2013 by

Let’s talk about something happy today, shall we? Let’s explore a dream that is actually coming true for one of my favorite families on the planet.

When we moved to Tampa a year and a half ago, we got an email from my aunt and uncle who live in Orlando encouraging us to reach out to friends of theirs in our area. “We think you’ll enjoy them,” they said. So we called them and on Labor Day of 2011, we went to their house for the first time (which was a five minute drive from the house we ended up buying) and the rest, as they say, is history.

Kevin and Jenni Keiter became a lifeline for us in our difficult first year here. We met with them weekly for a Bible study and they walked us through the dark days that followed our life being turned upside down. Together we all began to process and move toward living a life less encumbered with the confines of tradition. We began to break free and explore what living a radical life might look like.

We decided to take faith seriously and we got to cheer each other along the path toward living in freedom.

Jenni is an amazing photographer, a home schooling mama extraordinaire and has one of the sharpest wits I’ve ever met. Seriously, her humor is the best! She and her family have embarked on a dream trip and I couldn’t be more proud of them and in awe of their faith and their willingness to obey, even when obedience seems kind of crazy. Today, Jenni is here to tell you a little about what they’re up to.

 

 

I dare you to follow along.

 

From Jenni: Hi all! Several months ago, my husband Kevin and I took a step toward a life long dream and last week, we pushed off, along with our three children for a year long excursion around the United States. We sold our house, my smokin’ hot minivan, and at least a third of our possessions. We farmed the kitty out to a wonderful neighbor for the next eleven months and moved into the “Bob T” (Big Ol’ Bahonkin’ Trailer) on January 5, leaving the state of Florida for the adventure of a lifetime.

Everyone wants to know why we are doing this. Why give up all the trappings of a great life and work so hard for a 12-month odyssey? We’ve tried hard to come up with our “elevator answer.” You know, the one you can use to explain your mission in 20 seconds or less. But most of the time when people ask me I feel like I can’t come up with anything better than, “Um, because we really like s’mores?”

In truth, we know exactly what we are after. It’s just not a short answer and I’ve found more than a few people don’t truly want to hear it. I can think of at least two dozen reasons not to do this, but at the end of my life I doubt a single one will seem good enough to trump the regret I would feel if we didn’t. We are doing this to be together as a family in God’s AMAZING creation. We want to experience the gift of our national park system while it still looks like something worth saving. And probably the biggest reason is to show our children what it means to live counter-culturally: to turn away from the relentless pursuit of “more and bigger” and instead seek our heavenly Father and His will. He has never failed to speak to me in big ways when I get out in the wilderness.

Of course God, being the ultimate pursuer of hearts has not remained silent, waiting for us to hit the woods. The preparations for this adventure have been very difficult. If you think moving is stressful I can assure you that moving into an RV (by way of six different locations in twenty days) will teach you a new definition of chaos.

In the moments when I am cranky and tired I remember that field of wildflowers in Olympic National Park.

When I feel suffocated by the lack of order as we live out of bins and suitcases I draw a breath to discover I can clearly remember the one I inhaled at the summit of a Colorado “14er.”

When I think we will never finish the work (still working on this rig, even seven days into the trip) I can see the palette of reds and ochres that paint the desert southwest.

These moments of refreshment can only be from God, His voice reminding me that He is here in all the madness regardless of the GPS coordinates or where my feet are currently planted.

So I invite you all to come along with us, live vicariously through our blog (if I had a dime for everyone who has said that I would have about $2.70!). Learn with us, laugh with us, seek the Creator with us. You can find us at Dareyou2move.com. We hope to hear from you!

 

So there you have it! You will want to follow along because what they’re doing is awesome, Jenni is wickedly funny and as you can see, her photos are awe inspiring!

Filed Under: Blogging, faith, Friendship, Guest Post, Life, Travel Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Not Impressed

January 14, 2013 by

I’d like to go on record with saying that I am so far entirely unimpressed with the year 2013. Really, I’d be fine if we skipped it. Like an old hotel, I’d like to move straight from floor 12 to floor 14. Bell hop? Anyone?

It’s been a rough few days and I have the bags under my eyes, the twisted muscles in my neck and the knot in my stomach to prove it. I look at the calendar and I look to the heavens and I wait. Because things have to go up from here.

This morning, I flipped open my (in)courage daily inspirational calendar to this quote by Holly Gerth:

Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Hebrews 11:1

“I’ve always thought of those words in the context of believing in God…But that morning it seemed the One Who Loves us whispered that part of faith is also about believing that our obedience makes a difference – when we can’t see the results.”

The past few days were hard for more reasons than one. I talked my kids through the events that have transpired over the last few weeks and it broke my heart. I sat with my nine year old as anger and pain and doubt clouded his crystal blue eyes.

“Why would God let this happen?”

“We have a good family and we want to love a little girl who needs a family. Why wouldn’t God let us love her?”

“Why do these bad things happen?”

“What’s going to happen to those kids in the orphanage?”

His questions were great. They were deep and real and honest and beautiful and I didn’t fully know how to answer them because I have the same questions. So I told him.

I told him everything I’ve been telling you and myself for the last ten months. Hope is slow. It’s so slow that sometimes we can’t see it.

I told him that God promises to be the Father to the fatherless and we have to believe with a faith beyond our sight that He is there with those children. We have to believe that they experience God in ways that we never will because He is all they have. We have to trust that He hasn’t forgotten the children – all the children – around the world who are waiting for love.

We have to believe and in this moment, we must build an altar for our kids. We must set a place for them to look back on and remember. We must guide them in this thing called faith that so often requires blind action.

Officially, our adoption is not yet terminated. There is still a thin thread of hope, but that thread gets dimmer each day. I feel like I’m preparing to lose a child. I imagine that this is much like it feels to miscarry. We haven’t given up hope entirely, but we are preparing ourselves to move on.

But can I share the miracles in this story of ours?

Friday, after I listened in on a call from the Department of State for adoptive families in process, I hung up the phone discouraged and defeated. I sat next to my husband and sobbed in his arms. In that moment I felt like it was over completely.

You see the thing is, I’ve always thought I would adopt a child from Russia. I’ve been waiting for so long for God to give us the signal to move forward, but I never once doubted that He would. It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t bring home a Russian child. Not once.

But Lee, my steady and wise husband, has a different vision. He has a passion for adoption…not just Russian adoption. To him, whether the child comes from Russia, India or America doesn’t matter. This brought me a lot of comfort, particularly because the idea of adoption was initially difficult for him to embrace. He had deep reservations, but in the course of this past six months, God has really opened up an excitement in Lee about the beauty of building a family through adoption.

Miracle.

Later that night, I sat down and opened an email from an old college friend who didn’t even know all that was going on inside my heart. This is part of what it said:

I’m writing to you because God has been sending me clear messages for you. I’ve been praying for you all and following along here and there on your journey. And every time I read one of your posts, I get an image of Christ riding in, like a soldier redeeming this situation for good. EVERY TIME you write something about the current situation in Russia or your heart breaking over the possibility of loss, the words “promise” and “redeemed” come flashing in my brain. I immediately get a sense of urgency to tell you that God will follow through on the promise He has given you. He is good. He has made a promise to you. He planted seeds so long ago in your heart for this country and for the people there. This horrible situation will be redeemed. His promises will be made known to all who know you and hear your cries.

She ended her message with a beautiful prayer that I have printed out and read over and over. Because I’m so heartbroken right now that I don’t know how to pray. But her prayer gives me the words to lay before the altar.

Miracle.

My heartache goes beyond the potentially failed adoption. There are other things mixed in that have worked together to form an emotional tsunami. But this one thing I know – God is good. He has not left the throne. Right now, I cling to the fact that our faith must be manifested in obedience. Like the quote mentioned above, we have embraced our faith through obedience and we are learning more and more each day about what it means to live courageously – even when the steps of faith don’t look like we thought they would.

We took a risk in moving forward with the adoption. It was a step of faith. It was obedience. And in our obedience God has worked miracles. I pray He’s not finished. I pray that the redmption of this story does include the completion of our adoption.

But I’ve no doubt that our family’s story is not finished yet. I believe my friend’s vision. I believe that God has redemption in store for us and we wait in expectation with hands held high. And when it is all said and done, no matter what the outcome may be, we will build an altar of remembrance.

We will look at our children (all four of them?) and we will point to these days and we will say, “Look, kids. Look at what God has done. He is faithful!”

Pray with us?

 

Filed Under: Adoption, faith, Family, Grace, Kids, Life Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Guest Post: On Waking Up Wondering if You’re Depressed

January 14, 2013 by

Today’s post comes from my internet friend, Nicole Unice. Nicole reached out to me a couple of years ago after reading my blog and realizing we are basically the same person living in different parts of the country. I love making friends with people who share common ground.

Nicole is a beautiful writer and a speaker. In her new book, She’s Got Issues, Nicole explores the ordinary issues that are keeping you from the full and free life you were meant to have. I would encourage you to read today’s post and be blessed. This was exactly what I needed to read after what has been a terribly difficult and exhausting weekend. I needed to hear that my brokenness is being met – that I am not forgotten. 

Thank you, Nicole, for encouraging us all today!

From Nicole: I wrote this post a while back, and I find it strangely comforting. To be encouraged by God is one of the best gifts he gives us in this life. If you are brokenhearted today, my prayer for you is that you would boldly and desperately ask God to make himself known to you, and I will join with you in faith to see Him answer that prayer.

 

Last Tuesday was a very bad day.

 

I woke up, ready to go back to bed. I felt like I had a giant swab of cotton wrapped around my head. I shuffled around the kitchen like a zombie, mumbling at the kids and chugging coffee. No particular reason. Just fuzzy. Low. Sad. Teary.

My husband is a morning person and almost immune to bad moods. He might as well whistle “zippety do dah” as he springs out of bed, he’s so cheery. But on this day, not even his sunny disposition could lift my spirits.

A few minutes later, I’m dragging around our room, avoiding the children and trying to will myself to not crawl back into the bed.

“What’s wrong…” he says.

“I don’t know,” I say.

What is wrong with me? I wonder.

….

“I know what’s wrong,” I say, five minutes later, teary, “I have nothing to look forward to. I feel like I work from the second my feet hit the ground until the second I close my eyes.”

Now I’m gaining steam.

“OK, you know how you hate to write (he hates to write. even emails.) Imagine if you are working hard at something you don’t like, and someone is deleting every line immediately after you finish it.”

Then I cry.

Because that is how I felt that day. Like days were endless amounts of work, me running, others coming behind me and deleting everything that I do. Endlessly serving with no return.

This is not a good place for a mom. Or a ministry leader. But this is the place I was in. And like a dark cloud inching across the horizon, this mood threatened to steal my joy and my hope, and even my faith, at least for one day.
The morning drags, the tears continue. The diagnostician in me wonders if I am depressed. Do I meet ten of the twelve required criteria on the DSM-IV manual? Am I sleeping too much, eating too little, enjoying nothing?

Maybe.

As I leave the house that morning, I whisper a desperate prayer.

“God, I don’t have the strength to seek help or encouragement today. If you are real and you care about me, would you care for me today? I need you to show yourself–in a word, or a person, or somehow.”

It’s 9:30AM. I’m having coffee with a dear friend–more crying–more wondering if I need medication–and I get this text, at the bottom of the screen:

Prayer Answered.

What else can I say to that? Except that I felt loved even when I couldn’t ask for it. I felt encouraged, and not because I have wonderful people in my life (although I do).

But because when my heart is broken I feel God.

He is so faithful to me with his presence. Maybe not in his answers or in his gifts or in the things I call “blessings”, but in the reality that my brokenness always calls his presence.

And that’s worth looking forward to, for the rest of my life.

Click here to read more of Nicole’s encouraging words.

Filed Under: Blogging, Guest Post Tagged With: , , , , , ,

We Wait, We Weep, We Pray

December 27, 2012 by

UPDATE: So Putin officially signed this ban into law yesterday, devastating us and hundreds of other familes who were waiting. There is a thin thread of hope that they will allow families currently in process finish, but for us to be counted in that group, we need to be filed with the Russian officials before January 1. WE NEED A MIRACLE!

So officially, we are at a bit of a stall at this point. Yes, the law Putin signed states that effective Jan. 1, Russian adoptions are closed, but what exactly that means for those of us in process is unclear. The law is being challenged as it violates Russian Family Code and is against the Hague Convention on Children’s Rights, which Russia has signed. There is a petition with 100,000 signatures on it at the Duma asking the law to be annuled, but the likelihood of that happening is pretty low. With New Years and Russian Christmas on January 7, we likely won’t know any more until around the 10th of January. So we continue to wait and pray and hope that something changes.

On Christmas night, after the gifts had been unwrapped and the harried activities of the day ended, we put the kids to bed. The house was quiet and still smelled of cinnamon and love. I sat on the couch with a cup of hot tea and stared at the Christmas light and prayed.

Last week, Russia proposed a ban on US adoptions. I prayed for peace and for wisdom for the leaders. I wondered what our Christmas would look like next year. Would there be another child dancing around the tree? Would she be here? I prayed and I asked God to give me a specific word on the adoption.

Then I sat in the silence and waited.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe the tree to ignite in flames and a voice to speak to me? Maybe a sign or a phone call or something significant?

I didn’t get any of those. Instead the word “Wait” kept rolling through my head. At first I thought that word was coming from me, that subconsciously I was just telling myself to wait for God to give His obvious answer.

Then I realized it was coming from Him. The word “Wait” was rolling out of my heart and repeating on a loop in my mind. Wait. Wait. Wait.

Yesterday, Russia’s parliament unanimously voted to uphold the ban and still I chose to wait.

 

Wait.

 

Today, Putin has said he will, indeed, sign the bill. Today I wept. They were hard, hot bitter tears. Our paperwork officially went to Russia just this week. We were right there – right on the cusp and I feel heartbroken and sad. I told you recently I have been fearing the floor would drop out from under this whole process…

And yet still I feel that I must wait. I don’t know what this means for our family, I really don’t. Just thinking about telling my kids that there’s a chance this won’t happen brings on a fresh crop of tears. I’m sad and I’m scared and I’m confused, but I will wait.

This doesn’t change the fact that I feel our family is incomplete. This doesn’t change my desire to adopt. It doesn’t change my deep, deep love for the country of Russia, for the people, for the culture. So many things have remained the same and so I wait.

What will God do? We have a mountain of completed adoption paperwork. Do we go to another country? Adopt domestically? Wait and see if things open with Russia? I don’t have answers to any of those questions. So I must wait.

And while I wait, I will probably cry. And while I cry I will definitely pray.

We are headed into a new year. There are so many possibilites. I am waiting to see what God has in store.

 

Will you pray for us as we wait? And please pray for the 750,000 children who are currently living in orphanages throughout all of Russia. They are the true victims in all of this…

Filed Under: Adoption Tagged With: , , , ,

Onward and Forward

December 20, 2012 by

We did it.

 

Yesterday we mailed out a package filled with every detail of our lives to the capital building in Tallahassee for apostilling. From there (and barring any major mistakes on my part) the package will head to our adoption agency, most likely by the end of next week. I have one piece of paper that needs to be apostilled in the State of Arkansas and I’m waiting on one more document that will need apostilling in the State of California.

And then?

Then our dossier is complete.

COMPLETE!

As in done.

Finished.

Into the hands of Russia. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

And now we don’t know what will happen. Will Russia close? Possibly. If that happens we will take a little time to breathe and are open to exploring other adoption options. But they might remain open. This whole political stand off may pass on by and if that happens, then we are that much closer to seeing this thing through.

So we wait and you know what? Waiting isn’t a lot of fun. It just isn’t. I want to know. I want to know now! I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to see what kind of blessing might be at the end of the unknown.

I’m so human and so impatient.

A friend reposted this video the other day and it’s served as a good reminder for me. This was made a few years ago and yes, that’s Sloan you see in the video. He was around 6 when they shot this at our church in St. Louis. Besides being an awesome and adorable look back at him and all the other kids I love so much, it’s been a good reminder that even when waiting is hard, there are rewards to patience.

I want my cookie now. I don’t want to wait for two cookies.

But I will wait. I will wait and I will work on patience and grace and love and peace until we are presented with the next step. I will wait for the blessings.

 

What are you waiting for? Can I be praying for you in the wait?

Filed Under: Adoption, Adoption, faith, Family Tagged With: , , ,

Speechless

December 19, 2012 by

I haven’t had the heart to write this week. Between Christmas, birthday, a traveling husband, the flu, the tragedy in Connecticut and some adoption drama, I have felt a bit boggled and crazed.

I walk from room to room in my house with a very clear purpose in mind and by the time I reach the bedroom, I have forgotten why I went there. My brain is scattered and I can’t remember the most minor of details. The pantry is nearly bare and the fridge is empty of all but a few leftovers that have been in there for…well, for too long.

In the midst of all this chaos, I am trying to sit still – to breathe. I’m trying to keep perspective. I’m trying to spend more time on my knees and less time listening to all the noise.

Every day this week, I’ve put my kids on a school bus and sent them to a place that should be safe, but instead has become a warzone. Yes, our school is secure. But so was Sandy Hook. Yes, it probably won’t happen here. But it wasn’t probable there, either.

I got a sweet email from Sloan’s teacher this week assuring us that she loved our children and would do anything to protect them. I sobbed as a read that because she shouldn’t have to feel that way. Teachers shouldn’t have to think about how they will protect their children if a gunman comes in.

Teachers shouldn’t have to think about taking a bullet for a child.

The shouldn’t have to! But they do have to. I shouldn’t have to worry about my children being safe in school, but I do have to. My children shouldn’t have to walk into a building armed by policeman and doors locked tight.

That’s prison. It shouldn’t be school.

I think we’ve all lost a little innocence this week. Or maybe we were never as safe as we thought?

These things have served as a distraction along with the fact that Congress passed the Magnitsky Bill this week. I don’t really understand that bill, but from what I am reading I understand why Russia feels outraged. And Russia’s retaliation is to threaten to shut down adoptions.

Will it happen? Who knows. This is political bantering at its finest. Unfortunately, the collateral in all this back and forth are the children lying in orphanages.

Right now I am not panicked by the thought of adoptions closing down. I feel a peace. I truly believe that if God wants us to adopt a little girl, He will bring us a little girl. If He doesn’t, I will wait expectantly for what He does want to do with us. I don’t believe our family is complete yet and that is where I find this comfort.

But while I feel a peace, I am also in constant prayer over this. It is on my mind at all times. I’ve never felt more out of control as a parent and I have to cling to the One who I believe is in complete control. I have to focus on Him because if I don’t, then a blanket of grief and fear begin to close in and I feel like I’m going to suffocate.

I’m not a person prone to fear or doubt. I count it as a blessing that God has knit a unique measure of peace inside me that has always given me the ability to trust, to believe and to not wallow in the fear of the unknown. But this week has shaken me a bit. This week I’ve had to keep things simple. I’ve had to sit and think and ponder. I’ve had to focus on Christ as Lord and let everything else fade away.

Truly He taught us to love one another

His law is love and His gospel is peace

Chains will He break, for the slave is our brother

And in His Name all oppression shall cease.

Sweet hymns of hope in grateful chorus raise we

Let all within us praise His Holy Name

Christ is the Lord

Oh Praise His Name forever

His power and glory

Ever more shall reign

Filed Under: Adoption, Adoption, faith, Family, Life, Motherhood Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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