.From the Beginning.

I wanted a place to easily access the story from the beginning with our Habi. This is mostly for me, but I also know that I have gained a few new readers who are interested. So here are the posts, that I could quickly locate, in order from the beginning.

My Answered Prayer

I Dreamed of Africa

Always On My Mind

God is Up to Something

The {other} Boy

Our Day with Habi

My Habtamu

I Want to Know

My Heart

Day 17 of 7

A Home for Habi

Days 19 & 20 of 7

Day 21 of 7

Day 22 of 7

Day 25 of 7

Days 29 & 30 of 7

So Much to Do

Abundantly More

Habi took up a lot of space on my blog the last year and a half, and even more space in my heart and mind. I am so, so thankful for his precious life and that I was chosen to be his mom!

.A Home for Habi.

Jim and I have both taken time to discuss and pray over this post, and yet I still sit here with butterflies in my stomach. It's the whole fear of man thing again, threatening to choke me. It's fear of what people will say about us taking on something so much bigger than us - so beyond our means. I lived my life cautiously, calculated, and safely for many years. I honestly lived a watered-down version of a follower of Jesus. I don't want that anymore. I want to be all in, completely sold out to my Savior. So that brings me to this post.



As I mentioned on Thursday we have been trying to adopt Habi for a long time now. The door for adoption was permanently closed this week, but we cannot give up this fight just yet. Jim and I have decided to pursue a F-1 student visa for Habi. Because of a number of circumstances we have to hire an outside agency. We got the quote yesterday and panic set in. When we add that to what will be his tuition and school/sport fees next year (he will be attending a private Christian school), a plane ticket, a wardrobe (one that fits into a private school's dress code at that) and necessities for a boy who has neither, along with the actual visa fees we come up with a number around $15,000 - $20,000. And that scares me. It's like another adoption without the luxury of time on our side. (We are praying to have this accomplished by early July - about 6 weeks.)

Jim and I talked last night about areas that we can sacrifice in our family. We are cancelling cable and phone on Monday and going down to the basic $20 Internet. We will be scrimping in every area that we can. I am searching my home for things that we can sell. We are also trying to throw together a quick t-shirt fundraiser. I feel simultaneously overwhelmed, and oddly at peace. I know without a doubt God is still asking us to fight for Habi. Whether Habi is granted the visa or not, I know that God is asking us to close our eyes and jump - taking a risk and trust that God is in control of the details. Perhaps it is the journey that He needs us to walk, whether the ending is what we pray for or not.

So we do that.

But this is not really about our family, and honestly, this is not about sweet Habi either. This is about bringing glory to God, and I want that so much. In wanting that I know that I cannot hold this situation in my clutched fist. I have to open up and let people in, however God desires that to happen. We feel as if God desires for us to share this burden with other brothers and sisters. Here is what we need God to provide:

1. A host of people committed to praying from now until that visa interview. We need prayer for finances, for Habi as he prepares for the interview, for the agency that we are working with - that they will be able to quickly gather a birth certificate, passport, and secure an interview before we get there in July or while we are there. I am also asking for prayer for the embassy consulate who will interview Habi - that even now God would begin to work in this person's heart. Above all please pray that God is glorified and that His will is done, even if that means Habi is denied the visa.
2. Clothing for Habi - size 27 inch waist 29 inch length pants (or size 16 boys). Size small men's shirts. Size 7.5 men's shoes, sneakers, flip-flops, etc. I have picked up clothing at various thrift stores for Habi, but I have mostly found winter clothing. He will need summer clothes and dress clothes for school - khakis, polos, button-downs, etc.
3. Lastly money for all of the things that I mentioned in this post. We cannot financially do this on our own with just Jim's salary. Please do not feel pressured to give. This is only for people who feel led to help in this way. I so do not want to come across as pressuring anyone for money, and I understand not everyone that reads this has the means to give. I also want to clearly state again, that even after paying a significant amount of money (money we cannot get back)  - Habi could be denied the visa. We are taking a risk and going on faith here. Please do not give any money if you are not comfortable doing so. If you do feel led to give please understand that every single dollar helps.

For now I am going to put a chip-in on this post. When we get the t-shirt fundraiser ready I will post that. Thank you so much for all of the support and encouragement you have given to me here. You have been a huge blessing as our family has walked through some crazy times. Thank you for giving me grace with this post.

Dear Habi,
Dad and Mama love you. You have taught us so much about courage and love and the importance of family. Habi, you have opened my eyes to a world outside of myself. We continue to seek God in bringing you home. God has a great, big, plan for your life. I cannot wait to see it unfold, and I pray that we get to be a part of it. I love you to Ethiopia and back. Always in my heart.
Love, Mama

.Day 17 of 7.

I think God perfectly orchestrated this fast for this month - well, of course He did. He knew we would need that intentional focus and prayer that comes with fasting. I am hesitating to share this - any of it....

This is about our precious boy that we met on the streets of Ethiopia in January of 2011. This is about Habtamu. My heart knew the moment that our eyes locked, on that dusty street, that he was mine, and I was his. I think my heart knew as soon as he shoved his bracelet into my hand through the van window, that he was my son. Looking back I can now see how God was preparing me for the moment that I met him. Even the day before, as I witnessed families meeting their older children for their meetcha day. Something bruised in my heart, as I watched these older children, run into the arms of their new parents with tears streaking their brown faces and sobs catching in their throats. These were children who knew what they had been missing out on, children who longed for a family. I knew that Jamesy was God-ordained for our family, but I knew even then, that we would not be bringing home an infant for our next adoption.

 I've chronicled much of our story with Habi here, but what I have not come out and said clearly is that we have been pursuing an adoption of him for a long time. It started last June, and then God slammed the door, only to reopen it this January/February. Someday I may write more on how that came to be and perhaps some of what transpired, but not now. The past four months have been a roller coaster ride of emotion. One day we would find out that an adoption was nearly impossible and the next that it looked probable, and it bounced back and forth this way for months. We kept in almost daily contact with Habi, thanks to internet cafes, facebook, and skpe. On some days he would use the last little bit of money he had from working all day to skype with us, rather than eat - because seeing the faces of people who loved him was more important to him. We've prayed for him, cried over him, and longed to bring him into our family. We have feared his safety and heard his cries for food, shelter, but above all for a family. I cannot even count how many nights I have cried myself to sleep, selfishly asking God why He put such a love for Habi in my heart if he would never be my son, and if we could not do more to help him. I have awoken from nightmares about Habi sleeping on the street - only I awake from these nightmares while they are Habi's reality a lot of times.

This week our Habi was only  one clearance away from becoming paper ready to be adopted, and God slammed the door. Permanently.

My heart is crushed.

But even despite the sadness, we have a glimmer of hope. To some it may seem strange why we would fight so hard for a street boy - a teenage boy nonetheless, who we have only spent little time with, know very little of his story, or what kind of horrors he has experienced. I am sure only a few years ago this would have seemed strange to me. I know this makes us weird. I am getting used to that. But every time we pray over this situation, because to do nothing is not an option when God so clearly placed him in our life, we feel as if Jesus would fight for this fatherless boy. So in turn we fight. We pursue. We move forward, and we do not give up hope. I think every child should be in a loving family, and every child should have someone who is fighting for them - who is for them. Habtamu is that child for us. We are for Habi.

So now we pursue something that is very difficult in Ethiopia with a boy like Habi. We pursue an F-1 student visa. Many times thse visas are denied - especially for poor people like Habtamu who have nothing to make them want to come back to Ethiopia. But this is our final attempt to bring him into our family. We have found a SEVIS approved school (a school that has the legal certification to accept students with F-1 visas) that has told us they will accept him. It is over an hour drive both ways, but we are so thankful to have found a school. We will fill out paperwork for them and wait for the I-20 approval. Paperwork will be done on Habtamu's end, and then a visa interview at the embassy will be requested. Typically this all takes several months, but we are praying to a big God. We are asking God to bring the paperwork together quickly and to give Habi a quick interview date, and then we will ask every believer we know to get on their knees and pray that Habi gets granted that visa. We are also praying that this can all happen by the time we go over for our mission trip in July, and that God would orchestrate the details for Habi to have his visa and be able to fly home with us.

According to man's thinking this is impossible.

But with God it's possible, so I am clinging to that and looking forward to the moment that Habi is in our home.

 Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us. Ephesians 3:20

.Taking a Break.

Every now and then it is good for me to break away for a short bit in order to refuel. I am going to take a week long blog hiatus. I will be back to announce the give-away winner on Tuesday! If you have not entered yet, you can do so here!

I am actually spending every free moment on my knees and researching a special, crazy, only accomplishable through God, plan for our Habtamu. Please pray!

Have a blessed week. See you next Monday!

.My Heart.

I've only spent a handful of hours with him, but I've spent days pleading in prayer for him. He has my heart.



This teenage boy from the streets of Ethiopia - Habtamu. My Habi, as Jim affectionately nicknamed him. It has been a year since my world collided with him. And I am a completely different person. His soft brown eyes, and shy smile, and that nervous way he chews his lower lip, turned my world inside out from the moment I locked eyes with him. I knew in that instant that I had to fight for him. I just wasn't sure how, and honestly I am still not sure. If I had my way, I would get on a plane tomorrow and bring him back home with me. But that does not seem to be the plan, and although it breaks my heart, I am trusting that God has a bigger, better plan. I just cannot see what even the possibility of that plan might be.

It's hard communicating this love I have for a boy, whom is virtually a stranger. I know it makes no sense. I cannot explain it, except it is a God-thing - God orchestrated. Yesterday we were able to skype with Habi, for the first time in months. I don't have words for what it means to me to be able to see his face, and hear that accent, and the way he calls me Mom. When he calls me Mom I feel every bit of that title, and my heart tightens around this precious boy even more. He kept calling me beautiful this time, but he is the beautiful one - my konjo (beautiful in Amharic) Habi.

This was the momentous moment I am latching onto from this past week. While it was happy in the moment, talking to my Habi always leaves me feeling empty and helpless after the fact. My arms don't reach to Ethiopia, and when this teenage boy, who calls me Mom and Beautiful is over there needing us, it really, really stinks. I am thankful that my Jesus is enough for Habi, though, and I am praying that Habi will see that and know Him.

Jesus is enough for me, and my aching heart as well.

 

This is a Momentous Monday post. To learn more go here, and please feel free to link up with us right below!)

My heart pounded as we climbed the three flights of stairs to the suite we had been staying in. Some of the pounding was from the elevation and climbing the stairs with a baby riding me in a baby sling, but most of it was nerves I realized as I heard his plastic sandals slap the concrete stairs as he followed me.

Were we foolish to invite this stranger of a boy right off of the streets into our hearts, into our suite?

All that repeatedly echoed through my mind, though, was the thought that this is what Jesus would do and did.

I unlocked the door. Jim was still downstairs talking at the front desk, explaining the situation at hand. He tentatively followed me in, eyes round and wide. I knew from the look on his face that he had never lived anywhere so plush, and I felt a twinge of shame. Our eyes met, and he bit his bottom lip - shy, unsure, excited. Then his eyes settled on the light switch, and his face registered curiosity. He looked to me almost as if asking permission to touch it, my face broke out in a wide grin, reassuring his curiosity. He gingerly reached out and pushed the light switch making the lights come to life in the entryway. His face registered glee, and he took off exploring every nook and cranny.

He started in the kitchen - sliding the window back and forth, open and shut. He sat on the ledge, and my heart raced in that overprotective Mama Bear way, Oh, please do not fall out of the window. His eyes then landed on the sink in the kitchen and he manipulated the faucet until the water ran, and he looked at me astonished and broke out in laughter, and my laughter melted into his. I wondered if this was his first encounter with running water. What a mystery it seemed to be to him. He ran his hands under the streaming water over and over. When he was tired of that the stove top beckoned to him, and he turned it on and off, on and off. My heart panicked a bit, and I purposed to tell Jim to talk with him about not touching the stove after we left. Then the microwave was opened and closed, and the refrigerator brought him so much delight. He continually placed his hand inside perplexed over the coolness he felt. My cheeks hurt from smiling, and I quickly grabbed one of the slender glass bottles filled with coke, used the bottle opener to pop the cap off, and handed the cool bottle to him. His smile lit up his beautiful face, and he took a swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his dirty hand.

He continued exploring, flushing the toilet in the bathroom, playing in the bathroom sink. Looking at himself in the mirror and smiling so big with his perfect, white teeth, testing out the couch, the arm chairs, the bed. Marveling at our laptop and the blow dryer that lay beside it. His eyes were hungry to understand everything, and I was living in the moment of wonder right along with him. After several moments I gently handed him his new backpack stuffed with clothing and then a bar of soap. I showed him the shower and how to work it, gave him a towel and shut the bathroom door.

I unhooked Jamesy from the baby sling and kissed his curly head as the tears fell over my cheeks warm and stinging. Moment by moment throughout the past five or so hours I was falling more and more in love with this boy. A little boy from the streets with a history of cruel sadness that no child should ever have to shoulder.

The bathroom door opened and he emerged clean and grinning in his new clothes. I think he put every article of new clothing that we had given him on. He looked older but softer. He pulled up his shirt and showed me a scab on his hip that had opened and looked sore. He told me he got it playing soccer. He seemed proud of his wound, as I tenderly and carefully (not knowing his history and the diseases his little body might hold) bandaged his scab. Tears pricked my eyes wondering when the last time was someone had taken care of him. It didn't seem right that this boy was in charge of himself - alone.

The sneakers we brought were too big, but my running shoes fit him perfectly. He didn't mind that they were pink. I tied them for him, and he grinned from ear to ear so proud to be rid of his dirty, broken plastic sandals. I wondered what it must feel like to be wearing socks and shoes after so long in ill-fitting sandals. How much I take for granted I thought.

Jim came in the door soon after. I was quick to tell him everything and about the stove. Jim swiftly unplugged the stove and took care of my worries. Then they went outside to play soccer, while I snuggled Jamesy for a bit and thought over all that had occurred that day. I marveled that God had orchestrated such a divine meeting. That we would once again find this boy and be given the gift of a day together - a day brimming full with memories, and that God would allow us a way to get him off the street and care for him. It was good, so good, and so God. But it wasn't enough. We could give him the world, and it still would not be enough, for all he truly desired and needed was the one thing we could not give him, and the one basic thing every child deserves - family. My heart split in two. We were getting on an airplane that night, so excited to start our new life with Jamesy, but my heart was breaking at all we were leaving behind and who we were leaving behind. Why would God give us this day with this boy, and then ask us to walk away?

The hours melted into one another. We took photographs and videos and shared photos from the laptop of our family. He played with the mp3 player we had given him and every other electronic gadget that we had brought. We had dinner in the dining room - tibs and injera. He grew quieter and there was something in his dark eyes that was unreadable - fear, loneliness, confusion? Maybe all three. We were to leave for the airport at 10 PM. We tucked Jamesy in to sleep for a few hours, and we quickly packed up our belongings. He would watch us, and I wondered what he was thinking. Soon his eyes grew heavy with sleepiness. We had learned that he normally slept during the day for safety reasons, so no doubt he was exhausted from spending the day awake with us. I helped him to lay down on the cot that was brought up for him, and kissed his cheek. I whispered to him that we would wake him before we left.

I watched him try to sleep. He couldn't lay down all of the way. He slumped against the wall, half sitting up and half laying down, his body tense and on guard. I realized this was how he slept on the street. He twitched and constantly awoke scanning the room, and he whimpered in his sleep. Mumbling and crying. My heart broke again as I watched him. I am not sure when I had felt such pain for another person. Tears streamed down my face, and I looked at Jim and saw pain mirrored on his face as well. I quickly went over sat on the floor and grabbed the boy's hand. He curled his head onto my shoulder and sobbed. I stroked his head and his hand as he trembled. This wasn't right, I thought, as I envisioned my other children safely tucked into their beds sleeping soundly and peacefully. What exactly had this sweet boy endured? I am not sure how long I sat with him crying my own hot tears, broken for this boy. My back finally screamed for me to get up, and I did.

It wasn't long before it was time to do what I had dreaded all day long - say goodbye. I was relieved to not have to leave him on the street, but this was still unbearably hard. We woke him, and I told him that he could sleep in the Queen size bed and watch the TV in the master bedroom. He smiled, but this time it didn't reach his eyes. He sat on the bed and flipped on to a movie that made me flinch, but he was mesmerized. Jim turned the TV off for a moment and pulled him to his feet. I was once again wearing Jamesy, who was sound a sleep in a front pack on my chest. We stood in the middle of that room and football huddled. For a moment the clock stopped, and I memorized the way it felt to be together, to have this teenage boy's arm around me and my husband's arm around me. The tears flowed, and I choked on sobs, and then Jim began to pray. I have no idea what he prayed. My memory fails me, and perhaps even at the time I was too distraught to really listen. I felt the boy quiver. He knew the day was ending, and that we were leaving with no certainty of when we would be back. After Jim said amen, I turned to the boy and hugged him fiercely.

I love you, Mom. He whispered - as broken as I have ever seen another human.

I love you, too.

Then my heart was pierced with horrific pain as I watched Jim envelope the boy in his arms. They rocked back and forth crying. Jim whispered to him over and over that he loved him and that we would be back someday. He promised that all of his needs would be met, and that he would be safe and well fed. And as long as I live I will never forget the look of sheer pain that was evident on the boy's face. It was palpable, and I could not swallow past the burning lump in my throat. Quickly I said one last goodbye and left the room.

And that was it. It was over. And that day has changed the course of my life forever. I still do not how it will all end, but I cannot ever be the same again. I cannot lay my head on my pillow, or wake up in the morning, or look at my brown-eyed boy here in my home and not remember who we left behind.

I hesitated to share any of this, because it still hurts, and it feels really, really vulnerable and private. I feel led to share, though, and I do not want the memory to fade. I want to remember what God gave us that day, and I want to remind myself that these faces on the street and in the orphanages are real people. People that God created and loved enough to send His Son to die for them.

People had told us it is foolish to pursue a teenage boy off of the streets of Ethiopia, that we cannot understand the ramifications it will have on our family.

It's true that we cannot.

But I cannot live with the ramifications of doing nothing.

I think Jesus would pursue the boy.

And simply because of this knowledge - so will we.

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' Matthew 25:40

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.Rich.

I have cut and pasted this from a facebook note that I wrote last week while in Ethiopia. He was there. (To start at the beginning read here.)

I was told that he had asked about me every time our guide was on that street. As our van bumped along the familar road I wasn't sure if I would find him, and I wasn't sure if my heart could take not finding him.

We exited the van, and my eyes scanned every brown face there. A boy ran up to me excitedly, and I recognized him from our last trip. He motioned for me to wait. Then moments later there he was - in front of me - just as I had dreamed and prayed over and over. His smile was shy but excited- as was mine.

I've thought of you and prayed for you everyday. I told him.

He grinned and grabbed my hand and fingered the beaded bracelet wrapped around my wrist. The one he had gifted me with two months before. Our language barrier was great, but we communicated a thousand words with our eyes until in broken English - in that beautiful melodic lilt that was burned into my memory- he spoke to me.

My mother died. He told me as if he knew I had been searching for his story.

I am so sorry. I whispered.

It is alright. He smiled as his brown eyes grew soft.

Because you are my mother.

Then he wrapped his arms around me, and on that dusty street in Addis our worlds once again collided and my world was righted and even seemed to stop for a moment. I had one of my brown eyed boys snug against my chest and the other with his arms around me. It was more than I had ever dared hope, dream, or pray.

His name is Habtamu (Hob-tom-oo), and in English it is translated Rich. Tomorrow at 11:30 our guide, Job, the one who had been repeatedly asked about me by Habtamu, arranged for us to pick my boy up and take him to lunch. At lunch I will be able to give him the care package that I brought for him. I am still unsure as to why God has laid Habtamu on my heart, and why there is such a connection between us. I know it is of God, though, and I am eagerly waiting the end of this story.

We got a glimmer of hope about adopting him today. Do I dare hope? No matter the outcome I feel like one of the richest women in the world tonight. Before we left his street, we embraced once more.

I love you. He whispered to me.

My throat grew hot and thick with the lump that I tried to speak around.

And I love you. I sobbed. I squeezed his hand before walking away promising him that I would be back tomorrow. And if tomorrow is all we ever have, I will exclaim my thanks to God, because truly He has given me riches beyond anything this world could ever dare to offer. So until tomorrow....I give thanks for today.

.God is up to Something.

I am unsure of what the outcome will be or what the future will look like, but God is definitely at work and has heard all of my cries and bottled all of my tears as I lay my head on my pillow each night. God is up to something that could possibly be BIG, BIG, BIG when it comes to my special Street Boy in Ethiopia.

I don't want to get into too many details, because I don't know too much (although if this whole thing works out like I am praying it will - I have a huge story to tell of how God orchestrated this. Let me just say that I am continuously marveling at the way He collides stories. His ways are so, so much higher than mine!) The first step is to find him and to find out if he is truly an orphaned street boy. Our guides were pretty sure that he was, but we will need to be certain of that. So we have a starting place, and a loose plan set in motion, and someone in Ethiopia to be our hands and feet right now. {squeal} We also have a meeting set up with that person when we travel to Ethiopia. So that we can discuss face-to-face the future of this precious child.

My heart breaks, just as it did in the Post Office District in Addis, when I met this sweet boy, when I look at his sad, haunted eyes. What unknown, tragic stories they hold. I need to tell him of my Jesus. I must tell him.

God certainly works in mysterious ways. Because this precious little boy has lodged himself into my heart just as snuggly as Jamesy has. I truly feel as if I have two Ethiopian sons. One, God is giving me the blessing of being his physical mommy, and perhaps the other I am just being called to be his spiritual mommy - to pray for him all the days of my life, to entrust him into the care of another, to provide for his needs an ocean away, and to love him like my own - though he can never truly be my own.

My little boy, with the sad dark eyes, do you know that this woman that hugged you tight has thought of you every single day since meeting you? Do you know how she fingers the beads of the treasured bracelet gift? Do you know she would go to battle for you and has been pleading for you every single day since coming home?

Little boy, do you know that across the ocean, a very different world away, is a woman forever changed because of our encounter, who loves you and prays for your heart, your life, and your safety every day?

And anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf is welcoming me. Matthew 18:5

.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?