I Have to Do This

For the last two months, we have been knee-deep in checking off items on our adoption agency's home study checklist.

By home study, we mean the first official stage of the adoption process involving a heap of paperwork required by both Georgia and the United States.

For those curious ones, here is a sample of our checklist:

*Autobiographies for Each Prospective Parent (four pages)                                       

            *Reading agreement (read 5 or more books about adoption)

 *Medical Reports for All Adults and Children Living in the Home (physicals, as well as, TB tests)

 *Residential History

 *Consent and Request for Criminal Background Check for Each Applicant and Adult in the Home (Both GBI and FBI fingerprinting done)

 *Child Abuse Clearances for Each Applicant and Adult in the Home

 *HIPPA Release Form for Sex Offender Registry

  *Photographs

 *Birth Certificates for You and Your Children

 *Marriage Certificate

 *Most Recent Income Tax Return

 *Copy of health insurance card

 *Statement of Net Worth

 *Verification of Employment

 *Four Letters of Reference

 *Septic Tank Letter & Well Water Test (had to have our septic tank pumped)

Working down our list, my husband and I dutifully made appointments to have physicals done for our medical reports last month.  Following the routine checkup, each of us had to have a tuberculosis test as well. 

Our girls were in the room watching as the nurse inserted the small needle into each of our arms and then pulled it out.  They saw us grimace and they saw the little amount of blood on our skin afterwards.

Naturally, they asked, “Do we have to do that, too?”

Fast forward to this past week.  It was our daughters' turn.  Time for their scheduled doctor’s appointments.  

We told them they were getting a check-up (which they were). 

We told them it was for the adoption (which it was). 

We told them we had to do this so we could bring their new sister home from India (which we do).  
But we purposely failed to relay the whole truth to them beforehand.  The truth that both of them would also have to get a TB test, just like us.

As we patiently waited for the doctor to come in, our youngest just happened to ask, “Do we have to get a shot today?”

My response, “No…not a shot, really.”

“What then?” she rebounded.

“Just a little poke.  Nothing to it.”  I replied nonchalantly.

Now any parent who has or has ever had young children, especially those terrified of needles, can guess what happened next inside that quiet room.

Just as the doorknob turned and the nurses took a step inside, my youngest and normally bravest daughter, began wailing at the top of her lungs, “NO-O-O-O-O!!!  I don’t want to be poked!  I don’t want to!  I don’t want to I tell you!  I’m not doing it!  I’m not!  Do you hear me?!?”

My husband scooped her up and tried to console her.  We both tried to reason with our five year old and help her accept the facts.  She was going to be poked, whether she liked it or not.

In the midst of all the commotion, I looked over at my oldest still quietly sitting on the table.  She had her head down, arms out and ready, tears silently streaming down her cheeks.

 
As I made my way to her I knew exactly what she was feeling in her small eight year old body.  I remember all too well, wrestling with her at her toddler and preschool doctor appointments, holding her legs down so the nurses could give the necessary vaccinations. 

I knew what turmoil she and I have faced together because of her stark, intense fear of pain (see previous post here.)  So my mother’s heart knew just how difficult it was for her to say these words when she looked up at me through her tears.

 “I want to get Pearl, Mommy.  So…I have to do this.”

I have to confess I have had many, many proud moments as a mother.  But few can compare to hearing my daughter say what she said, at the moment she said it.

She got it. 

Despite the momentary pain and the minor wound it would cause her, she would do it for someone else.  Someone she has yet to meet.  Someone she already loves.

And then I got it. 

We have One who did the same exact thing for us.  One who would have rather avoided the pain, the wounds, the blood. 

But through tears, He looked up at His Father and said,

"I want them to be free.  I want them to be with me. 

I want them in my family.  So...I have to do this."

And He did.  He carried our sorrows.  He endured the suffering.  He was pierced for our transgressions.  And by His wounds we are healed.

Throughout every stage of this adoption journey I see the gospel more clearly than I ever have in my life.  This journey will require sacrifice and suffering.  Not just for us, but for the daughter we've yet to meet.

"But if you suffer for doing good and you endure it, 
this is commendable before God." 1 Peter 2:20b

Thankful for the reminder, I tell myself, no matter how painful, no matter how difficult the task, "I have to do this."

Beautiful Things Out of the Dust

I opened the book and began to read some basic facts about the infamous volcano to my girls.

Washington state.  1980.  Eruption.  Mount St. Helens.

If the pictures of the mountain before the catastrophic event were worth a thousand words, then the comparison photographs after the explosion were worth two thousand.

Complete and utter devastation. 

Fifty-seven lives lost.  Hundreds and hundreds of homes, bridges, and miles of highway destroyed.  Wildlife obliterated.  Left in its aftermath was an enormous hole in the side of the mountain, hardened lava and layers upon layers of dust and ash.

Pristine rivers.  Gone.  Lush plants.  Gone.  Wild animals.  Gone.  Towering forests.  Gone. 

My girls and I were stunned by the stark difference in the mountain's appearance before the explosion and its appearance afterwards. We were quieted by the power of the event and its effect on the land.

Then...we turned the page in the book.

The image we saw in the very next photograph caught our attention. Budding forth from its resilient shell was a tiny green sprout, stretching toward the sunlight, unhindered by the hardness and dust enveloping it.

Where death and destruction once reigned, life now returned.

My eight year old made a pretty profound statement.  A truth she'd gleaned from church.

Looking at the book she said, "Mommy, that's a picture of hope.  Believing something good can come out of something bad."

Who would've thought any kind of growth, any kind of life, any kind of hope could come after such an explosive event? 
Who would've guessed wild animals would return to roam the mountainside? 
Who would've thought plants could grow and thrive in the midst of those conditions? 
Who would've thought any good could come out of something so bad?

Meet my beautiful friend, Misty. 

Having lunch @ the Cheesecake Factory - Spring 2012

Misty and I met at Shorter College almost nineteen years ago during my freshman year.  She and I hit it off right away.  We spent most of our time laughing in class and soon became fast friends.  When I pledged the same sorority she was already a member of, she chose me as her little sister. 

Shorter College White Rose Formal - Winter 1994

Not only did we spend our college days living the good life, but we were there for each other when the circumstances of life were not so good.  We encouraged each other's walk in the Lord and truly became sisters in the faith.

We served as bridesmaids in each other's weddings. We supported each other as we both entered the realm of motherhood and we did our best to stay in touch despite living states away from one another.

One of Misty's visits back to Georgia - Spring 2009

Then one cold January day in 2010, I got a heart wrenching phone call from my friend.

The Day family the summer before Misty's diagnosis - July 2009

She desperately needed prayer.  She was experiencing severe yet numbing pain in her lower back and had no definitive answers for the cause.  In the months that followed, multiple tests were run on her body and her blood.  At times, she was bound to a wheelchair, completely unable to walk or move without excruciating pain. 

The comfortable, content, care-free world she'd known erupted around her when she was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, a form of bone marrow cancer.

In the last two and a half years, Misty has had to endure some of the most horrific tests, surgeries, and treatments out there for cancer patients.  She has fought with intense bravery.  She has fought with perseverance.  She has fought with Divine power.  And she has waited patiently while her Healer has fought for her. 

Earlier this year, she was told she was in partial remission.  Things were going well, but because the type of cancer she had was slow-growing, it was unfortunately also slow-dying.  She returned to the cancer institute at the beginning of this month for more tests and more treatments, fully expecting to resume the battle for another year or possibly more.

Then four days ago, she posted a picture which caused me to stop completely in my tracks.  The news caused me to jump up and down and bust out my very own happy dance!

Complete remission = CANCER FREE!

Following a devastating explosion in her life, a trail of destruction spread out for miles, and a hardened blanket of ash upon her, hope bursts forth from the dust!

The war she has waged for far too long is over.  Healing has won.  Hope has won.  Life has won.

The page has been turned.  And all things are being made new.

Hope - believing something good CAN (and WILL) come out of something bad

Thank You so much, Lord. 

In Your sovereignty, sometimes You heal; sometimes You do not. 
Thank You for choosing to heal my friend. 
Thank You for letting all of us "bring her to You" through prayer.

You are our Healer, our Hope and our Life. 
Thank You for making beautiful things out of the dust.

(There is a song called, "Beautiful Things" which makes me think of my beautiful friend and our beautiful Savior.  We just happened to sing it at church the Sunday after we read the book about Mount St. Helens here at home and a couple of days after my lunch date with Misty.)

Click here to hear the song. 

Raising My White Flag

Job is a hard book to read.  Of all the books in the Bible, it’s the one I most often try to avoid.

Why?  Because Job is a hard-to-understand account of a man (a mighty, mighty good man I might add) who experiences unexplainable and unfathomable loss.  A man and his suffering.

Similar to the childhood game, “Mother, may I?” in which the player asks a question and waits for permission to be granted before acting, our accuser enters the presence of God, with just one question:  “God, may I?”  God’s response:  “Yes, you may.”

And in a flash, all that Job has ever known or ever possessed is gone. 

His children.  His possessions.  His health.  His position in the community.  His reputation. 

Job was stripped of everything.  Everything except his wife and his life.

Stripped.  All he had was taken from him.  All of this happened to him.  And God allowed it. 

As soon I come up for a breath from reciting this prayer, “Lord, please don’t allow all I have and all I know to be stripped away from me”, another word, a very different word, comes to mind. 

Surrender.

Surrendering is something I do, not something done to me.  Willingly, I choose to give something over to Someone else.  It’s not just a single action, but a posture in life.  It’s raising my white flag high above my head with the declaration, “I give up.  I hand it over it to You.  You win.”

But surrendering is hard.  For some reason, I think by hanging on to my “thing”, I am more capable of handling it or protecting it or making it more prosperous. 

In clenched fists, I hold on when God is telling me to let go.  To trust Him.  To surrender.

Just like last Christmas when an opportunity arose for our family to help some refugees from Bhutan, a tiny country north of India.

We were asked to collect blankets, winter clothing and coats to give these men, women, and children who had literally just stepped off the plane in cold Atlanta only wearing sandals and the clothes on their back.  My husband and I gathered what we were willing to give and asked others to do the same. 

The very Sunday we were to travel to Atlanta to take these items to the refugees and others already here from India, I got dressed for church, put on my brand-new coat I had only purchased days before, and walked out the door.

While donning my very new, very nice, very perfect coat, I got into the car while my husband loaded up the bags of old, worn coats into the trunk.  Without warning, I sensed these words in my spirit, “Oh, and don’t forget to give the coat off your back, too.”

“What?  Seriously, Lord?  Not my new coat.  Please.  How about I go inside and find another older coat to give?”

But even as I tried to wrestle with God over a silly coat, I knew what He was really asking.  It wasn’t even about the coat.  It was about my heart being willing to let go.  Would I give Him my best?  Would I think of others more than I think of myself?  Would I surrender to Him?

I wore my new coat to church for the first and the last time that day.  And then later in the afternoon, I carried it into the tiny apartment in Atlanta and laid it on the sofa as an offering.  Not to the refugees taking up residence there.  Not to the woman who would later wear it because she desperately needed it.  But to my God.  To the One who willingly laid down His life for me. 

Then I walked away.  Not dwelling on what I’d given up.  But thinking about what I would gain.  A more generous, giving heart.  Something I’d been praying to have.

“No matter what we give up, we are given so much more.”

~ Margaret Feinberg, The Sacred Echo

I wish I could say from that moment on, I continue to surrender my best, my all, with open hands.  But the truth is, I look down and find them closed and clenched far more often than I should.  It’s a daily surrender.  A daily death to myself.  A daily offering to Him.

At my church, we sing a song by worship leader, Chris Tomlin, entitled “White Flag”.

The lyrics are so incredibly powerful.  Read them below or click on the link to hear the song.

"White Flag" by Chris Tomlin

We raise our white flag.  We surrender all to You.  It’s all to You.

We raise our white flag.  The war is over.  Love has come.  Your love has won.

What could we lose by surrendering everything we have to Christ?  Better yet, what could we gain?

Then he told them what they could expect for themselves: "Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You're not in the driver's seat—I am. Don't run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I'll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to finding yourself, your true self. What good would it do to get everything you want and lose you, the real you?” Luke 9:23-25 (The Message)

(Since the first of this year, I've been reading through the Bible with an amazing group of ladies--the Shine girls, led by an even more amazing friend, Jill. We've been camped out in the book of Job for weeks now. Jill asked me if I would consider writing for Shine's blog.  I wrote this piece and it posted today. Click here to read the post and also to see what God has been doing and how He is using Jill and a multitude of others to shine for Him.) :)

May Days

Forget December.  Never mind the other ten.  The month of May, hands down, wins the award for the busiest and most memory-making month of the year.

May has had me moving back and forth from the urgent to the important and back again that I have completely neglected this little blog for over a month.

So I thought I'd catch us all up, including myself, on what our little family of four has been up to the past five weeks.

Let's start with softball.  Around here we love ball.  The oldest plays.  The youngest is preparing to play.  Daddy coaches and Mama cheers.  We were fortunate to have had an amazing little team this season.  Our favorite team by far.  It was a joy spending most of this month in the dirt with them. 

Biggest lesson the team learned this season:  Listen to your coach.  Trust him, no matter what.  When he says, "Go", go.  When he says, "Stop", stop.  Such simple instructions for young softball players. Resonates loudly with us adults as well.  Yep. That'll preach.

Next up in May was Mother's Day.  Spent some quality time with my Mama the night before.  A little dinner.  A little shopping.  Some new accessories.  Win-win for all.

Received some super-sweet, heart-felt gifts this year, including a desperately-needed flat iron from my girls and my husband.  So long, frizzy, untamed hair. 

Abandoned the family after church and took off with my friend, Terri, for an atypical, unorthodox way of spending Mother's Day.  Lunch and shopping at the mall.  Just the two of us.  Absolutely loved it.  New tradition?  Maybe. After all, we moms spend the other 364 days of the year with our kiddos, right?

Wrapped up our fifth year teaching AWANA Cubbies at our church.  Such a huge blessing for us to be a part of such a great program and to teach some really precious children.  So proud of our own girls for working so hard memorizing scripture and hiding God's word in their hearts! 

Concerning the adoption, we worked on completing some necessary requirements for the home study portion of this process.  Physicals.  Fingerprinting.  References.  Lots of reading.  Lots of paperwork. We also went to our first adoption support dinner, connected with some new friends, and followed along as a family from our agency was the first to complete an adoption from India.  We rejoice with them as their nearly four-year journey to adopt their daughter has officially and finally come to an end.  You can read some of their story here http://bringingjustice.blogspot.com/.

We had another very, or should I say, "berry" blessed fundraiser.  Following two trips to the local strawberry patch, and after making one batch of homemade jam, my husband suggested we make and sell additional jars of jam to raise funds for the adoption.  We did.

The result:  "Pearl Jam".  Appropriately named for our little Pearl in India.  (I plan to blog about her name and how we came to rest upon it soon, so stay tuned.)  Thanks to so many friends and family, we sold 50 jars of this strawberry goodness.  I'd say "Pearl Jam" was a "jam-up" success!

What would May be without a graduation?  Even though we predominantly homeschooled this year, my youngest also attended Pre-K three mornings a week.  She had a wonderful year and is excited to be home with us full-time in the fall for kindergarten. Congratulations to our little graduate who is growing up way, way too fast!

Another big event this May...Celebrating Little Miss's 5th birthday!

This year it was all about beautiful, fluttering butterflies, so we gathered every thing that had wings and could fly. 

For starters, we ordered ten caterpillars from an online insect company.  We wanted to raise some butterflies, and then release them at the end of the party.  Prior to the party, we got to watch the ten fuzzy, crawly creatures eat their food over a period of a week, climb to the top of their container, change into a chrysalis and another week later, emerge into stunning butterflies. 

Even as many times as I've watched this process take place (when I taught first grade in a public school, and the times I've done it with my own girls here at home), it never fails to blow my mind.  The metamorphosis is indescribable. Creator God takes the greatest of care of every tiny detail in every tiny life.  Off with the old.  Hello to the new.  Two words.  Simply amazing.

Because the caterpillars arrived much earlier than we expected, we faced the tough job of keeping the butterflies alive until the party, which wasn't for another three weeks.  We fed them.  We took care of them.  And since we had moved them into a large butterfly pavilion, we could sit inside and observe them--how they ate, how they fluttered around, and how they interacted with each other (yes, they seemed to get along pretty well, if you know what I mean). 

 And just as we planned, at the end of the birthday party, we let them go. They were able to fly as they were created to do.  Out of the tent and into the world. 

It was happy moment.  But it was also sad.  After caring for these tiny creatures for almost a month, I was glad they were free, spreading their wings and fluttering everywhere. But at the same time, our house suddenly seemed a little lonlier and a little less active.

I couldn't help but think of all the parents whose children just graduated from high school this May and are headed off to explore new places, moving from the constant care they've known and the security they've relied upon.  A season filled with mixed emotions for sure.  A season marked by metamorphosis.

As this fifth month of the year comes to an end, I am choosing to hold on to the fleeting moments with the two little butterflies still reliant upon my care.  I want to watch them grow, change, and prepare themselves for the future God has waiting for them.  And when it's their time, they'll spread their wings and fly.  Just like they are destined to do.

I'll admit, I'm not looking forward to that day.  Not. At. All.  Whether I'm ready for it or not, that day will be here soon enough.  No, instead, I am perfectly content to be living in the midst of these busy, yet memory-making, May days right now.

It Took a Village

It's been said, "It takes a village to raise a child." 

But concerning our adoption, I've said, "It'll take a village to help us get our child."

The good news...

I've found the village. 

And to all the village people who helped us this past weekend pull off the most amazing first fundraiser ever, thank you.  We are in debt to you. 

Why? 

Because...

You prayed.

You spread the word.

You donated things for us to sell.

You priced the items.

You organized and sorted the massive pile of stuff.

You loaded the trailers the night before.

You unloaded the trailers the next morning.

You set up over twenty tables.

You put up eleven tents.

You unpacked boxes.

You willingly baked brownies, cookies, cupcakes, truffles, and other delicious goodies for us to sell.

You purchased water bottles and sodas for us to sell.

You put on aprons, rolled up your sleeves and you worked.

You carried the purchases to the cars of those who bought them.

You brought us dinner one night, lunch the next day.

You shopped.  You brought your kids to shop.

You handed us checks.

You shared our story with anyone who had time to listen.

You stood on the side of the road, beckoning people to come.

You helped us break it all down and pack it all up at the end.

You encouraged us.

You supported us.

You gave--your time, your energy, your love.

We couldn't have done it without you. 

Because of God's favor and you, we had the most successful yard sale I've heard of to date.

Over $4100 was raised for our adoption fund!  Yep.  That's right.  $4100!

Astounding.  Mind-blowing.  Remarkable.

From the bottom of our hearts, thank you. 

Seriously. 

Thank you.

"God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams!"

Ephesians 3:20 (The Message)

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

International adoption.  Nearly everything about it screams, "Mountain!"

Long wait = Big mountain

Paperwork and more paperwork = Big mountain

Communication with a foreign country = Big mountain

Some moments all I can see is one gigantic mountain after another looming in front of me.

But none is more intimidating than the mountain of money needed to get our little girl from India and bring her home.

Our agency estimates the final cost of this adoption to be between $30,000-$35,000 when all is said and done.  Yes.  That sounds like a lot of money.  Why?  Because it is! 

So, what is our one-income family to do?  Do we raise high our white flag and say we quit?  That we don't have these kind of financial resources?  That we can't do it?

Actually, we do.  We lift our white flag of surrender and say that we, in fact, are unable to make this adoption happen.  Left on our own, we cannot do it.  But God...

Whenever I feel completely overwhelmed by these mountains, God is faithful to remind me He is the Mountain Mover.  He is the only One who can do it.  But He also reminds me of my part the exact moment I start to doubt.

He replied, “Because you have so little faith. I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain,

‘Move from here to there’ and it will move.

Nothing will be impossible for you.” Matthew 17:20

No mountain is too high or too strong or too invincible.  I do have faith.  Even if it's teeny-tiny some days.  Just like a mustard seed.  

So, how are we going to move this mountain of money?  We will pray.  We will save.  We will fundraise.

For starters, we have planned our first official adoption fundraiser for next weekend, a huge yard sale across the street from our church.

We have asked anyone and everyone, as they "spring clean", to reserve a pile for us, to set aside items they no longer need and are willing to let us sell at our sale.  We are praying for lots of donations, lots of customers, and lots of sunshine!

We have also sent a letter out to friends and family asking for prayer, as well as, for monetary donations.  My Mom always taught me, "It never hurts to ask.  All they can say is, 'No'."  So, humbly, we've asked others to come alongside us and contribute to our journey.

And with grateful hearts, we can say we nearly have a tenth of what is needed!  It's definitely more than we had and we are thankful.  So thankful. 

We are working on ideas for other fundraisers following the yard sale, and just last night, we added a "Donate" button to this blog.  If you are able, please consider clicking the button in the right hand margin to donate to our quest to bring our Indian daughter home.  We would be so grateful!

Lastly, I just have to share the song I've had in my head and in my heart over the past couple of months.  I've been singing it to my little girl in a faraway land and at the same time I've sensed the Lord has been singing it over me. :) The lyrics remind me of why we are doing what we are doing.  Mountains and all.

"Ain't no mountain high enough

Ain't no valley low enough

Ain't no river wide enough

To keep me from you."

Diana, take it away...

Sweet little one, we're coming.  We have some mountains to climb and some mountains to move, but we're coming.  Don't worry.  Ain't no mountain high enough to keep us from you.

An Easy Button

You've seen one of these contraptions, right?  You press the button and it says, "That was easy."

I was thinking today how nice it would be to have an easy button for any event or circumstance in my life.  Simply press the button and it's done.  Not only done, but done with very little effort or hard work on my part. 

Just easy.

Unfortunately, over the years, I've learned life does not work that way.  Not. At. All.

Most things, if done well and done correctly, are not easy.  As a matter of fact, they're just the opposite.  They're downright hard.  

It seems as if our family is entering the first "hard" phase of the adoption process.  The task of raising the necessary funds to be able to adopt.

We are planning our first fundraiser--a yard sale slated for next month.  With all the logistics, collections, and planning to be taken care of in such a short time, I find myself wishing for an easy button.  Like yesterday.  And boy, would I be pressing the mess out of it right now!

Last week I had an impromptu conversation with my friend concerning our present status with the adoption and I said to her, "I wish we had been more frugal in the past, saved a ton of money and had all we needed set aside to fund this adoption.  Or I wish someone really wealthy and generous would just write a check to fund the whole thing.  In either scenario, we could just be done with it."

My wise friend's response, "But that would have been too easy."  She was right.  And I knew it. 

It's in and through the very difficult, very hard circumstances in our lives where our faith has the chance to grow.  It's also where God works.  If we were capable of starting and completing this whole endeavor ourselves, then it would wind up being all about us and our abilities.  But because we can't, it's all about God and His power to do the impossible.  It's also about allowing others to participate in the process. 

Faith doesn't come easy either. 

My hunch is it wasn't too easy for Noah to continue to build the ark in the midst of constant ridicule and lack of knowledge.   But as Noah persisted in the hard work, his faith grew and he went down in history as a man who obeyed God, all because of his faith.

It also wasn't easy for Moses to keep the faith when he had to face Pharaoh and tell him to let God's people go.  But he trusted God even when returning to Egypt was extremely hard.

It couldn't have been easy for David to believe being king would actually happen, even after being anointed by Samuel. But David kept the faith and trusted even when the waiting was long and hard.

I'm sure these three biblical heroes would have loved an easy button.  Press and be done with it.

Easy buttons don't exist now and they certainly didn't back then.

And just like these three biblical heroes, sometimes it isn't easy for us to believe God can and will fulfill his seemingly impossible promises either, but we must trust Him.  We must believe.  We must have faith.  When it's hard.  Especially when it's hard.

"I am the LORD, the God of all mankind.

Is anything too hard for me?"

"Ah Sovereign LORD, you have made the heavens and the earth by your great power and outstretched arm. 

Nothing is too hard for you." Jeremiah 32:27;17

What a relief to know the One I love, the One I trust, the One I follow doesn't need an easy button anyway. 

Nothing is too hard for Him.  Absolutely nothing.