.A Better Story.

She bent down curling her small frame around the tiny frame of her daughter. I watched her breathe her in, finger her curls, caress her cheek, and inhale the peace, regarding her daughter's future, that the doctor had just gifted her. My own eyes grew wet and warm, as I watched her eyes spill rivers of salty tears. I recognized the universal language spoken the world over by mothers, as her hands gently moved over her daughter's body seeming to echo the cadence of words spilling from her lips and mingling with the tears dripping from her warm, brown eyes. There was a sacredness that clung to the moment, and I averted my eyes in an effort to not pierce that sacred with the intrusion of my presence. But in a breath she drew me in, and we were all wrapped up together, arms entwined, hearts beating fast, her mama eyes meeting mine, and despite the language barrier our eyes communicated a thousand words stolen directly from the dictionary of motherhood. 

In that very moment I knew that I had to do a better job of telling a better story. A story that included how so many mamas here love their children just like so many mamas there. This mama in front of me, beaming at her daughter, despite being born into poverty in this developing country, and despite neglect and abuse, and abandonment, stretched beyond her circumstances over and over and over again in order to be a good mother to her daughter. She knocked on gates for years to find employment. She offered her daughter the first and best food, even when she too needed the nourishment. When she was shoved out to the streets to make her bed, she wrapped her small body around her infant to protect her and keep her warm. Despite hardships that I cannot even fathom, she raised her daughter on her own for three years, and her daughter was happy, healthy, cherished, and oblivious to the fact that many on the other side of the world would pity her. Her laughter is sure, and she is confident in the simplicity of her life, and the love of her mother. As a mother, as a woman, as a human, when I think of her story, I feel inspired. I don't feel the fatigue that inevitably comes after a hard story. I feel inspired to know and love this woman, and I feel inspired in my own mothering because of her. I have never doubted her love and dedication for her daughter, and I could empathize with the depth of it when her doctor broke some hard, crushing news, and her body shook with sobs, not for herself, but for her child. 

In this journey, I have realized that in an effort to serve here I don't tell the better stories as much as I tell the sad ones. Looking around social media, I realize that I don't hear the better stories either. Better stories like this one, about the mothers here who do not let poverty steal away their child, who know and understand that regardless of the struggle, one of the very best gifts is the gift of being a mother.

For a long time people have used the plot of Africa to tell a sad, heart-breaking story. Anyone who follows the social media sphere of influence of missionaries, non-profits, adoptive families etc. who serve in Africa has no doubt heard these stories. The heart behind the telling of these stories is more often than not genuine in their desire to raise awareness and support for a place and people they love. There is a time and place and a need for these stories to be tenderly told. But for every devastating story told and gut-wrenching photo shared, I want the world to know the whole truth, that there are also better, beautiful stories to be told. Yes, my friends there are sad stories unfolding  in this continent. I have seen things that I will never share because of the horror of them. I have seen what I wish that I could unsee. There are nights when my stomach churns and my heart bleeds because of what lies outside of my gate. These are realities. They are not made up simply to garner compassion and pull on heart strings and purse strings. But if we take a step back, we quickly realize a truth, that there are sad stories to be told in every continent. That is the reality of living in a world that was never meant to hold the weight of sin, and yearns for perfection to return. 

But what I want you to know is that one, sad story cannot contain the narrative of an entire country, much less an entire continent. That's not fair. Just like one sad story cannot define your world. I have seen just as much good as I have seen bad. just as much beautiful as ugly, just as much wealth as poverty, just as much joy as sadness. The story is never just one note. There is always more depth, always more dimensions. It's the same kind of different here that it is there - a world of contrasts, of people with imperfections living inside a broken world. And with that comes stories some sad, some better, both needed. 

Today I am giving my heart a break, and turning my focus to a better story. We don't know what tomorrow holds, but today I chose to pen the beautiful.

.Why Orphan Care Must be More Than International Adoption.

Today marks three years since we brought Jamesy into our permanent care. Three years ago we landed once again on Ethiopian soil, and for the first time in months my heart slowed and beat out a new rhythm that felt like home. It was adoption that drew us to that country - that continent. God opened our eyes to orphan care, and we became obedient. But now after three years in, we realize that our eyes were just beginning to open back then. Our lives are always changing and growing - emerging as we learn and grow and do better when we finally know better. And we have learned a lot along the way. Where at one time, as we were learning and growing, you read this blog and you read passion and devotion for international adoption in my words. And some of you read dogma and pride and self-righteousness and forcefulness as well I am sure, and I apologize. Truly I am sorry. It is part of why this space has grown silent on these matters. I am a quiet girl who turns fiery when I am passionate about something. Writing is one of my only outlets and how I process what is in my head and my heart, and so this blog received the brunt of my growing pains.

Yes, I've been quiet for awhile now in my advocating for international adoption. I still love adoption. I still believe in it, value it, champion it, but I also have seen the other dark side of it, and now even question whether it is truly a top solution in orphan care. I still whole-heartedly believe that every Jesus follower is called to orphan care - nothing has changed that view. I still am very convicted by James 1:27 Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you. I am an orphan advocate and a justice advocate, and I strongly believe that so was my Jesus. Something in my heart broke, though, when I began to understand that orphan care is way bigger and more complicated than I originally thought, and that to find the solution we really have to go so much deeper than international adoption - because the problem as a whole is just too big for that. 

I am going to be very careful here in what I write, because I have two precious children from Ethiopia who I am responsible to protect. However, after living with Jamesy for three years and with Habi for almost two, I can honestly say that in a perfect world, the world in which God originally intended us to live in, adoption was never His plan for these children. Adoption was never God's original plan. Adoption springs from great, horrifying tragedy that should never be. The suffering and overwhelming devastation that flows from all that these two children have lost was not part of God's original plan. I now firmly believe in my heart that God's original plan was for Jamesy and Habi to grow up in a loving, nurturing home with their birth parents - not with us. It is only because we live in a broken, messed up world that they are now in our family, and don't get me wrong, God can and does redeem the mess. But the mess leaves deep scars, and we experience that reality every single day in the brokenness, trauma, guilt, shame, and grief that accompanies our two boys.

Bringing these boys to America and into our family didn't automatically heal them or {flinch} fix them. It doesn't tackle the core. My heart is broken and bruised realizing the tragedy that is the fact that my sons cannot grow up inside their birth families. As much as it hurts to write this, because of how fiercely I love my boys and now see them as my 100% sons, if I could give them anything in this world, I would give them their birth families - whole, healthy, and thriving. But I can't give them that. So, we all do the best that we can with the grace of God pouring down over us. It was not God's first choice for these boys to grow up in our family. Please read carefully, this does not negate the beauty that has occurred inside our family because of adoption, the way the gospel has taken on life to us, or the amazing way in which God redeems, restores, and renews our boys. It doesn't take away from the amazing work that God did inside of my husband and I because of adoption. But knowing what we now know, without going into personal details, we have come to the conclusion that orphan care has to be less about international adoption - it should never start there - it should never be the first plan of action in tackling this need.

So God has been opening our eyes to family preservation. This is huge and hard and not as romantic or as flashy looking as adoption. I now think that when it comes to orphan care, and when we feel the call (as I believe all Jesus followers will), this should be our first priority - keeping families together, discipling them, nurturing them, sharing Jesus and the gospel with them, extending mercy wherever and whenever needed, helping them sustain a living and giving them the life-skills to pass on a hope and a future to the generations behind them. I believe that our number one priority in orphan care should be keeping families together - not advocating for international adoption. I have heard it said before, and now I get it and believe it, international adoption is just a bandaid slapped over a bleeding, oozing, gaping wound. 

We've got to do better. This is too big, too deep, too mammoth of a problem for a quick patch-job, and we've got to get to the core of the tragedy that ultimately places children in situations where they are orphaned, abandoned, living in institutions and waiting for international adoption. The core begins with family - birth families. So, let us start delving into orphan care right there - we have to.

Let me stop here and shout that I do not think that international adoptions should end, and I do not believe that they are wrong. So if you are reading this post and are inside an international adoption, please, please hear my heart - I am not anti-international adoption. Remember that I call two Ethiopian boys my sons. Don't hear me say anything like that. I just firmly believe that it is not and cannot be the the answer to orphan care - it is one small teeny-tiny bandaid fix - a necessary one at times, yes, but we must, must, must look beyond that and move deeper inside the root of the problem to find a real solution. Adoption is a teeny part of the solution, but it should not be the main or only focus. The core tragedy will never see justice, healing, or a sustainable solution if we only focus on that one minuscule piece. Yes, we need Jesus followers to respond to the tragedy that has forced children into the need for international adoption - absolutely these children need to grow up in loving families, BUT at the exact same time we need to be tackling the core and fighting for family preservation.

This is where God has opened our eyes and is drawing our hearts with Mercy Branch Inc. We know better now than we did four years ago, so we are begging God to help us to do better. We are obeying God's call to extend the mercy of Jesus to street kids - kids that are not viable for international adoption but still very much fall under the umbrella of orphan care. And we are learning more and more about the importance of working toward birth family reunification with these kids - because many of them do still have families. Yes. they have been abandoned by their families for so many devastating reasons (reasons that I whole-heartedly believe have solutions and can be stopped as the Church would step up and out), and most live as orphans. But stop for a moment and think what God could do if someone would step in and disciple these children and their families into beautiful, redemptive reunification. What would happen if someone even stepped into a family's life and helped prevent that family from feeling as if their only choice was to abandon their child to the street? How might a generation in Ethiopia be changed by this? And for those kids who have no remaining family or where reunification is impossible and international adoption is just not viable, what then? What if godly, whole Ethiopian families stepped in and brought these children in as their own sons or daughters in domestic adoption? What if these children, who undergo the tragedy of losing their birth family, could still remain inside their continent, country, city, culture? Would the trauma scars not run quite so deep if they were not removed from every single thing that they know?

We don't have all of the answers. We do not want to pretend to be an authority on this. We are just beginning this journey of asking God how He wants us to attack the core. We are just beginning to see how much bigger the solution is than international adoption. We will probably make mistakes along the way, but we have to try to tackle this from the inside out. We need to be part of the fore-runners in fighting the core tragedy that causes the need for international adoption. We hope that our ministry with Mercy Branch Inc. will be a small part in that. We are determined to pour our lives into helping birth families stay together and giving them tools to raise their children well, and when that doesn't work fostering domestic adoption, so these children can stay where they are. Ethiopia needs them - its future depends on a generation of godly men and women that are also involved in tackling the core tragedy.

We realize, even this, is a drop in the bucket, and we are praying to keep our hearts open and sensitive to the Spirit's leading. But this is the direction our hearts are beating. Here is a small taste of that heart beat.

.Always on my Mind.

He's there. Crouched in the corners of my mind and tucked into the crevices of my heart. I didn't expect him to follow me so tightly home. I thought I would only be carrying one brown-eyed boy in my memory, but it's two that haunt me when my head begs sleep from my pillow. And it is the second one who is constant. Jamesy, oh I do miss him in an indescribably painful way, but at the same time his position is secure, so I can cling to that knowing. But that boy, who calls the streets of Addis home, makes me come undone. He makes me see differently - better. But it hurts more than I can bare at times.

I thought I had it figured out. I thought God was asking me to pray big, to pray the impossible, and believe that God could allow us to adopt him - an unadoptable street boy. Despite the protests of my husband (simply not wanting me to set my eyes on something completely futile and have my heart totally devastated), I prayed and pleaded and planned that somehow soon another brown-eyed boy - a boy I truly feel a motherly connection to - would become my son. But I think God is leading me another way. Bits and pieces of a brainstorm, a crazy scheme are formulating in my mind. It will take God to piece it together, but I am pleading in this direction for now.

We bought him shoes today. I have no idea if they are the right size, but I pray that they are or that he can sell them and have the money. I am filling a back pack for him. I am not sure of what. The shoes and maybe clothes and food, and a letter from me and a photo of us. He gave me his best when his dirty little hand thrust the beaded bracelet at me. I wish I could give him the world - a home. I want to tell him of Jesus and the hope that he can find in him. I am praying for this boy's redemption - both physical and spiritual.

He's always on my mind. He was there today as we shopped for diapers and wipes. It was his face I saw when we walked into a mall. I thought I needed to buy Jamesy a coming-home outfit. It was our first time trying to shop after Africa. And we couldn't do it. I wanted to vomit as I thought how all of it was frivolous, unnecessary, and how much money I had wasted over my life time in such a place on items that were not needed. Even in a thrift store I wrestled over a $2.00 pair of shoes that I did not need. I kept thinking about the other pairs that sat in my closet and the thousands of people all over the world that have none. How do I reconcile that? And how do I reconcile the fact that I bought them? When do I go back to normal? Or do I want to? I just don't care about the stuff anymore. All I want is to be in Africa and empty the rest of my life into those people and show them hope in Jesus. And I am angry that God is not calling us there.

But I am begging Him to do something big through us, through me. I'm just waiting for the next move and thinking about two little brown-eyed boys whom I lost my heart to. How can they be the least of these the way they occupy the most of my mind?

.I Dreamed of Africa.

I dreamed of Africa for the first time since coming home. Only it wasn't a dream it was a nightmare. I rode along the streets of Addis which were lined with orphans. At first they were beautiful and smiling, and I recognized some of them as babies from the Transition Home. I waved and blew kisses.

Maybe the blowing of kisses triggered something in my memory bank, because as dreams sometimes do everything changed. I was no longer seeing sweet faces of babies. At first it was just the boy from the street, and I frantically blew him kisses. (Blowing him kisses with tears marking my cheeks with rivers was the last thing I did for that precious street boy that I now carry in my heart.) And there he was in my dream, but his eyes were hallow and haunted, and his face gaunt, and he clawed for me and screamed for my rescue.

My temples pounded in fear, and I began to panic, and I knew I could do nothing. And as I continued to bump through the dusty streets of Addis the brown faces of babies and children came into view. Only none of them were smiling. Some of them were obviously sick and some mangled and disfigured. All crying and screaming for me to take them home. And it was too much. I buried my face and covered my eyes sobbing and screaming knowing I could do nothing.

Then I awoke and discovered it was just a dream, just a terrible nightmare. My breathing slowed, and I shivered and I awoke my sleeping husband for comfort and soothing whispers. It was just a horrible nightmare I thought as I closed my eyes and begged for sleep to come steal me.

But sleep stayed away as I realized that the little boy on the street in Addis and all those orphans that I held and played with and watched and witnessed on the streets and in the cold orphanages could not wake up. For their nightmare is their reality.

And I again wrestle with how to change, how to live, how to be, now that I know and have seen. How do I do this? How do I fully live and fully remember all those I have left behind?

.The Grace Gift.

Her ear was the recipient of my whispered promises in the night, as I pulled the covers to her chin and tucked her in warm and deep.

Tomorrow morning. I murmured. It is then that we play and slow and cuddle and talk and be. Just the four of us, with no interruptions - no phone, no internet.

She reached her child warm arms around my neck and squeezed. Then she closed her eyes and giggled and anticipated.

And he and I snuggled in and rehearsed the plan again. Cementing it in our minds and committing to the empty, but really so full, Saturday, that lay on the other side of the sleep.

With the breaking of dawn came the breaking of rules.

Of hot cocoa with puffy marshmallows - marshmallows that mommy had hidden away from the remnants of summer s'mores.

Of jammied bottoms way past eight.

Of messes, of sweet stuff, of movies, of moments.

For in the breaking of rules we were able to romance our children.

And in the giggles and warm bodies snuggled into mine, and in the stillness crashed the knowing. Africa crept in and with it sadness for the brown eyed boy that was so obviously missing. Not too much longer I prayed, and he would soon be part of our Saturdays and our every days. The sadness hovered but was welcomed as it was twinned with anticipation, and the anticipation was tasted as painfully sweet.

But as quickly as I embraced the anticipation, guilt thundered in, and this is where I don't know how to be anymore. Africa changed me, and my skin hangs loose, uncomfortable, strange. Because the knowing the remembering of things and people creeps into every moment. The chocolate eyes of the widow woman with baby boy on her hip pleading for nourishment for him for one more day. The gratitude in the smile of the beggar as my husband curls birr into his bone-thin, sun-aged hand. They sneak up into our giggles - into our Saturday.

I don't deserve this any more than the gnarled and twisted man missing both his limbs that sleeps and survives on the side of the dirty Addis road deserves it. I have done nothing to merit this Saturday filled with warmness and food and family quilted in love. Guilt pounds at my heart threatening to break off another piece. And this is where I am learning what to do and how to live with the knowing. It must change me. It has changed me. It must linger and crash these moments of beauty. There will be moments when I must do something, be active, advocate and speak up for the defenseless - I am commanded to especially now that I steward this knowing.

But I am believing that maybe, just maybe there are moments even now - still with what I know and have seen - for stillness and cuddles and marshmallow kisses, for coffee and movies, and crafts and block towers. For it is in these moments that the knowing makes me see - for the first time with scales still falling off my burning eyes - the gift that I do not deserve, did not earn.

I need these moments, I need Saturdays - not so that I can forget Africa and the orphans that pleaded for the very thing I am in this moment enjoying. To forget would be as death in this life.

I need Saturdays to truly see that which I have been given and do not deserve.

I need Saturdays so that I can slow and still and savor the unwrapping of the grace gift handed to me. For it is truly that a grace gift - undeserved, unmerited. The guilt creeps out, the memories linger, and I embrace the grace gift of the moment, and the knowing caresses us all.

And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work. 2 Corinthians 9:8

.The Least of These.

I did not know my eyes could see that way. They burned and throbbed in the seeing for real. I blinked hard at the pain of having the scales fall away and the view that was before me. My mind swirled with the statistics. Statistics that I have been clinging to for nine months, statistics propelling me forward inching me closer and closer to Ethiopia. Flesh and blood and hallow eyes, and empty hands reaching through the van windows desperate for food. They both destroyed and gave life to all of the numbers bouncing in my head.

When did we in America - when did I replace living, breathing children, and people with numbers? Or did we never replace them, were they always figures to us? Is that how we manage to wash our dishes, kiss our children's foreheads, drive to the grocery store without a thought for the least of these? It must be what I did.

It took ten days of having my heart trampled and bruised from witnessing things that keep me up at night and unable to know when and how to tell others what I saw with my new eyes. It took ten days of finally understanding the least of these, and knowing that they are the most valuable in the eyes of the One who gave His life for them. It took ten days of agony as my eyes were pried open to the horror and the beauty mingled in human form not arbitrary numbers.

And now, now I am wondering how to be here. How do I tidy and pretty my home when I now know that I saw children living in trash heaps, surviving on sidewalks parallel dirty, busy roads? How do I tuck my children into bed at night remembering the beautiful faces of the children in the orphanages who sleep two to a bed, bunked in a tiny, cold room - locked in until morning. There is no Dad , no Mom to tuck them in, not even an adult in the room to calm a nightmare. They were just numbers to me before I met them, and now I lay down at night on my pillow and I hear their cries of terror, their pleas for love and something so simple as family. I remember their hurts.

What am I doing here? What am I doing for the least of these?

I remember the little boy in the denim jacket. The way he looked at me as I handed him some treats from my bag. His smile warming me as he clutched the treasures. Those eyes locked mine, and through the language barrier, I knew what they begged.

Are you the one I have been waiting for? Are you the one to end this nightmare and make me a son once again?
And now I live with the knowing that I am not the one - at least not for him. I was chosen for another boy. But the images of he and his friends are sewn into my heart, my mind. I won't forget what I saw, what I know. I promised them that I would tell others, that I would advocate for them. I don't know how though. I fall short. I cannot let these little souls be lost in the overwhelming numbers, and yet I am not the One who opens the eyes and softens the heart.
Perhaps that is one of the hardest lessons I have yet to learn - figuring out what to do with the knowing.

Because one day I will stand before Jesus....

I doubt he will ask me how many times I dusted my home, or if my children were dressed in GAP, or even did I home school?

He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left. “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ Matthew 25:33-40


No, I can't save the world, but I can clothe, feed, and give a home to some and tell them of the One who came to save the world. Because when I looked statistics in the eye, all of my excuses escaped.

.I Lost my Heart in Ethiopia.

We are home. It is hard to be here. I missed my children so, and am thankful to wrap my arms around them again. But if I am being honest, all I really want is to grab them up and turn right back around for Africa. I don't want to be here. I walked back into my house and felt sick. The prim decor that I have been collecting for years might as well have slapped me in the face. I cannot believe that I ever worried about couches matching or new carpeting, or the colors on my walls.



My stomach turned with the knowing - with what I had seen. I'm panicking now as I realize that this feeling of disgust will fade. Ethiopia will not be so vivid and pungent in my mind, and all this will once again seem normal - even necessary or deserved. Writing that makes me choke back bile. I have been so clueless, so spoiled, so blind. I could plead ignorance before. Although, it is a weak plea. But now, now that I have seen with my own eyes, I truly am responsible to act.



God brought us to Ethiopia for our son - and for so much more. It's the more that I am trying to process. I know my emotions are raw, I am sleep deprived, battling severe stomach issues, and missing my son in an excruciatingly painful way, but this is exactly where God needs me. He brought me here - to complete and utter vulnerability in order to break me in two. I know that it took this journey to Jamesy, traveling to Africa, holding orphans, and seeing poverty for me to truly be changed. I am ashamed that it took all that, but now that I know, now that I have seen, I am ready for however God wants to use me.



I just pray that I stay in this raw, vulnerable state for as long as it takes.



Some of you know via facebook that our MOWA letter of recommendation was not at the court house on the day of our court appointment. We were prepared for this, but it was still crushing. However, it does not take a piece of paper or a judge's declaration for me to know that Jamesy is 100% our son and predestined for our family. Because we did not pass, I cannot share photos publicly or tell you the amazingly awesome way God is working and healing his little life - and it is killing me!!) I have much to write about our son and our time with him, and it will come soon. He is precious beyond words. Our next court date (which our agency appears in our place for) is February 8th. I am trying not to get my hopes too far up, but am pleading with God that this be His timing. Kissing his precious face and whispering into his ear that we would not leave him as an orphan was the hardest thing God has required of me to date.



I'm still processing. I have only touched the tip of the iceberg of all that my heart holds from our trip. I know that most of it needs to be shared, but I do not know how. I feel so inadequate. Please give me grace and patience, as I untangle my mind and grasp for the stories knitted into my heart. I want to steward it all well.

My heart is lost somewhere in Ethiopia with two brown-eyed boys - one whom will soon be my legal son, and one whom I would give anything to find a way to make me him my third son.




Note: I opened comments up again for a time, as I am so behind in emails. Hoping this alleviates that a bit. More grace.

.The Mercy House.

It's no secret that God has opened our eyes and softened our hearts for a continent we have never even set foot on - Africa. I have researched and studied everything I can get my hands on about her culture, her people, her land, etc. I wake up thinking about Africa, and I go to bed at night with her on my mind. The Bible talks heavily about the need for us to take care of the needy, the poor, the orphans, and the widows. For a long time I just skipped over those passages assuming they were written for the "super Christians" who had that calling on their life. Please understand that I understand that many of these needs are right here in our own backyards - in America. I get that, I know that. My heart is heavy for those needs as well. It is just that at this time in our life, for some unknown reason, God has pointed our eyes in the direction of Africa. This is where the different callings come in I believe. The Bible clearly says that all believers are to do the above - take care of the poor, the needy, the orphans, the widows, but I think that God burdens every one differently with who to help. And isn't that great? Because if we are all being soft to His leading than the hurting, needy people everywhere should be getting help from someone! Too bad it doesn't really look like that, but that is a whole 'nother thought.

It seems that the more attached my heart becomes to Africa the easier it is to find others that have the same burden - at least online. The internet has become a sweet oasis for me during this adoption process. God has used other believers whom I have never met to encourage me, to challenge me, and to inspire me. On some of my darkest days during this journey, when there was not a soul that I could pick up the phone and call who would understand the crazy feelings I was having, I would get an email from a stranger speaking truth to my heart and encouraging me not to give up. Every one of those emails have been printed out and preserved. When I thought we were alone in these intense feelings for Africa I would click into a blog and read another family with the same burden. I want to share a family like this with you. If you get around the blog world much, you probably already know Kristen.

Kristen is the author of We are that Family. Her first book is soon to be published and released. (Jealous!!) She has three beautiful children and a great husband, and she is just a beautiful, authentic woman. Back last winter, just as God was starting to plant a seed in our hearts about adoption and Africa, Kristen went on a Compassion trip to Kenya. She wrote vividly and transparently about her trip, about the needs in Kenya, and about how God was breaking her heart for Africa. My heart was pricked. I cried over every post. God used Kristen and her blog to open our eyes a bit more and to take a step in our journey, and we gave up cable in order to sponsor a child through Compassion. Kristen's story is now a part of our story. I am forever grateful that she lived her life on her blog, because our lives have been changed. We can never go back.

Now Kristen and her husband Terrell have been led into a new and exciting ministry - The Mercy House. She can explain it much better than I ever could. If God is tugging at your heart to make a difference in Africa, please read about this ministry and pray about how you can get involved. Jim and I are in the middle of praying about our involvement right now. We know we will be involved, because we love Africa, and because this family has become very special to us, along with Kristen's sister and her family who run Into the Streets of Ethiopia. Isn't that so amazing? Two sisters with HUGE hearts for Africa! I love it.

I know I speak passionately and boldly on my blog. I know it is not the same blog that many of you first started reading. Honestly though I am not the same person. But please, please, please do not ever come here thinking I want to guilt you into giving me money for my adoption or giving money to other ministries and needs in Africa. I just want to present the need, and let the Holy Spirit do the rest. Some of you will feel called to help in Africa, some in Brazil, some in China, and some in the United States. My only real prayer is that we all would do something. I wasted a lot of years doing nothing. So I want to stand here and bridge the gap as I am led.

Kristen and Terrell, Jim and I are fervently praying for you and this dream that God laid on your heart. We know that God will equip the dream that He grew for you. It has been amazing for us to watch how God has worked and how you have listened and obeyed. Thank you for setting such a beautiful example. You guys make Texas look mighty inviting!



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.Just a Fool to Believe I Could Change the World.

And I can't.

But God can.

After yesterdays rather toxic post, I have calmed down a bit. I am still angry, but it is muted. I think I am more sad right now. I am sad, but I am so encouraged. Your comments made me sit here at my desk and just sob. They were so full of compassion, love, and you, my dear friends, get it. My inbox was full when I got up this morning, full of support and encouragement from readers and from our Ethiopia Yahoo Group.

I don't feel so alone today.

I don't feel quite so crazy right now.

Jim and I had a heart to heart last night. He shared a video with me (I will give you the link at the end of this post.), and between my time in prayer yesterday, your encouraging words and prayer, and conversation and prayer with my husband, I know this much....

I cannot do everything, only God can, but I have been called to do something.

..once our eyes are opened, we can't pretend we don't know what to do. God who weighs our hearts and keeps our souls, knows that we know, and holds us responsible to act.......... Prov. 24:12

I know what God is calling me to do right now. He is calling me to bring home our child from Ethiopia and He is calling me to advocate for orphans.

It is the second part that I am just realizing. The second part is actually harder for me than the first. I don't like to offend, and I know many have found me offensive, pushy - cramming this orphan thing down their throat.

Well, I am not going to stop. I am going to try to be gracious and humble, but I am going to advocate with everything in my being for the fatherless - for those children who have no one else advocating for them, for those children that deserve a daddy and a mommy just as much as my children and your children do. It was no accident that my children were placed in my home and not in an orphanage far away, but they are no more blessed than those other children, and God loves the orphans just as much as my children. I know this may turn people away, both here on my blog and in real-life, but I am going to do it nonetheless.

Here are some facts on how my God views orphans. Let's pull our blinders off.

Read these words slowly, let them sink into your soul. Allow the Holy Spirit to whisper this truth.

- Psalm 10:14, God is the “helper of the orphan.”

- Psalm 10:18, God will “vindicate the orphan and oppressed.”

- Psalm 82:3, God commands his people to, “vindicate the weak and fatherless; do justice to the afflicted and destitute.”

- Deuteronomy 10:18, God “executes justice for the fatherless.”

- Deuteronomy 27:19, “Cursed is the man who withholds justice from the fatherless.”

- Hosea 14:3, “in you (God) the fatherless find compassion.”

Oh, but that is just the Old Testament, and it is not applicable to you and me today, right?

So what do we do with James 1:27?
“Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself unstained by the world.”

God’s people then and God’s people now must actively care for the fatherless. In fact, the Greek word translated “to visit” or “to care for” is used elsewhere in Scripture of the shepherd tending to, watching over, giving close attention to and taking responsibility for his sheep. Kind of hard to swallow, but I hope even harder to ignore.

The only conclusion I can see from this is that Christians are required to advocate for and rescue orphans. We cannot pick and choose this. We cannot decide this only applies to some families. If you have beseeched God and know for sure that you are not called to adopt, what are you going to do - have you earnestly sought God's calling?

Adoption costs a lot of money. It is the hard truth. People sneer that if this is God's plan than He will provide the money. That is true, but guess how He often supplies the money??

Through people.

Don't let money be what stands between you and this kingdom calling.

Don't let fear.

Jim and I watched a video last night. I cannot embed it here, but PLEASE take the time to go to this link, scroll to the bottom and watch the video under Worship Media. After Jim and I watched the video we joked how we should move to Alabama and attend this church which so clearly gets the mandate of James 1:27. Can you imagine such a church?! What a blessing to have a church filled with so many families that get the need and are either adopting or are supporting the families that are adopting. We are the only family in our church walking this road. I have been going to this church my whole life, and I do believe we are the first family. Praying that changes, and that eyes are unveiled.

What about YOU?

Thanks for your love, encouragement, and support. Thanks for bearing with this post. I slept pretty well last night, and I know it was as a result of your prayers.
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.Today I am Angry.

I awoke this morning from another night of hardly any sleep. Maybe I got two hours, but that may be stretching it. I did get laundry done at 3 am. 6:30 am came crashing in all too quickly, and I wrestled with starting another day. I awoke angry at the fact that another day is here and while my world seems to be completely different than it was only a short time ago, everyone else seems to continue on the same.

I am angry at being made to feel like some kind of radical now that God has opened our eyes and heart to the truth of James 1:27. I am angry over hearing people spew, that's okay for you, but God has not called us all to that. He might want us to just give some money or canned goods to the poor. Lies. While yes, we do need to care for other needy people, how in the world does one not see the mandate clearly stated for ALL Christians to help orphans and widows?? What is even worse is the people that will not say the above, but have made it abundantly clear nonetheless.

I am angry because every night I close my eyes only to quickly open them in order to silence the cries my mind and heart hears from the orphanages around the world. How can I continue to live like this, when they live like that? How can we stop at just one child? What else can we do? How else can we advocate for the orphans when I look around and literally see that we are ALONE in this?

I am angry that money is such a barrier for getting to my child. I am angry that we have to fundraise and that it is so hard for my pride. I am angry over the very real conversation that Jim and I had to have yesterday about the very really possibility of having to take out a loan in order to get our child home. I am angry that just because I have never met this child, and I did not birth this child, that I am supposed to just go with the flow and wait on God's timing to bring that baby home. Would I be waiting on God's timing if Cadi or Scotty were trapped in an orphanage?? I WOULD BE MOVING HEAVEN AND EARTH.

I am angry that we have a last-ditch fund-raising effort planned, and that we will most likely blatantly be begging people to give money to us. I am angry that this is so very hard on my pride, and I am already cowering in the face of those that just don't get it.

I am angry with the cushy, Americanized churches that gloss over global needs. Why has it taken 30 years before I have really even heard or known what was going on outside my little palace? My children will not grow up with these blinders. If it takes us moving our entire family to Africa, so be it. I am angry with this whole lifestyle - with the multiple pair of shorts in my childrens dressers, with the oodles of dresses hanging in Cadi's room, with my rows of folded jeans and yet I whine that none fit right.

It's pathetic.

It's wrong.

I am angry over the stupid questions that we get asked. Why aren't you adopting in the United States? There are kids here who need families, and it would be so much cheaper. How petty! There are children all over the world that need families - that is true. God just happened to place our child in Ethiopia. Maybe our next one will be in the US, or China, or Russia, or Ethiopia again.
Questions filled with such nonsense as this, After you get this done, will you have more kids of your own? How do I even answer that? Will this baby ever be looked at by outsiders as one of our own? It just makes me angry.

If you came here looking for sunshine and rainbows today, you will have to search elsewhere. This is the raw truth of my heart at the moment. I am not looking to be placated or comforted. I think it is okay to be angry sometimes. It's in this anger that my heart is continually broken as I come to realize what God is seeing when He looks down on His world.

It's not beautiful.

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.Inside our Home.

I apologize for the poor quality of this video - I had my camera on the wrong setting. I didn't think it would be as fun for Cadi to do this again, though.



Cadi - Mommy thinks you're pretty awesome. You teach me so much everyday! I love you, Buggy!


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