.I Didn't Know.

I was never one to dream big dreams. Oh, I am a dreamer, but the storyboard for my dreams were all sweet and safe. They really were such good dreams about loving Jesus well by raising babies and loving my husband and making a home and filling bellies and always writing in between. I was never called brave. I was just normal, and I was really content and really happy right in the middle of that normal life.

But adoption took me places that I never dreamed of going.

Five years ago we walked off of an airplane dazed and naïve and stood in a country that was so far away and so different from the one that we called home. We left two beautiful blonde babies with grandparents and embarked on a journey that would change everything about our entire lives for our entire lives. And as dramatic as that sounds, it is entirely true. It would change us, our family, and the ripples would impact everyone who loved us. Looking back I really did not know that this would be the case. I didn’t know so much. I did not know that five years ago was the end of the life I once knew and the beginning of the life I now live.

I didn’t know how hard this journey would be or the toll that it would take. I thought I was getting off of that plane to meet my baby. And I was doing that, but I didn’t know that my baby was coming to me with so many special needs and diagnoses that five years ago I had never even heard of. I didn’t know that we would also meet our older son, and that we would soon disrupt the birth order of our family and jump headfirst into parenting an older child, with no prior experience or foundation with this child. I didn’t know that I was preparing to enter a few years of desert wandering as we wrestled through things I never knew existed until I was strangled in it - things like post adoption depression. I didn’t know the darkness and isolation that I would feel in the midst of the joy of building this family. I didn’t know trauma and heartache and sadness, or the way it can wrap around one’s heart and whisper all of my parenting failures every time my eyes opened in the morning. I didn’t know that love is not enough to fix all of those broken hurt places and cover all of those stories that I not only wish I could unhear, but even more so wish I could unwrite. I didn’t know that truly only Jesus is enough, and that I would grasp and claw after Him like never before. I didn’t know accusations would arise simply because we were giving this our all, and sometimes that looks so, so different from normal.

I also didn’t know just how strong our marriage was and how united we really were as a team. I didn’t know the intense love I would feel as I looked across a room and saw my husband tangled in the arms of a sobbing teenager, or cupping his chin while speaking truth against the lies he fights against, or the way my heart would feel out of control as he cleaned up vomit for the thousandth time, or fought on the phone with doctors and lawyers, and stood in front of person after person demanding this child be made his son, and that child receive the proper treatment, and all the while loving the other two just as he did when there were only two. I didn’t know how brave my blonde babies were or how enormous their hearts were until I saw them make room for their brothers and embrace them with everything inside their little bodies. Or how proud I would be when the tears and rages come, and they quietly move out of the way and pray for Jesus to heal the hurt, and rub backs with their little hands, and whisper wise words, and forgive and give grace and remind me of what it means to love. I didn’t know how much they would understand this journey and teach us along the way. I didn’t understand how courageous two boys were who folded themselves into our family and learned what it meant to be a son. I didn’t know how much I would enjoy a family spread out in ages, how much a teenager can love the baby of the family, and how fun our lives have become with littles and a big, and all of the good that comes with having both.

Five years ago, I embraced a thirteen month old baby, and collided with a ten year old boy, and everything changed. I could not have known what was to come, the depth of pain, the unspeakable joy, the stories we would share, the places we would go, the tears we would sob, the laughs that we would exchange, the millions of I love yous and I am sorry; please forgive me’s that would need to be said and resaid, the thousands of photos to prove to him that yes, we are family and no, we are not going anywhere without you, the memories that we have forged and fought for, the wounds HE would heal, the lessons we had to learn, the hard we had to endure, and the life we get to live.

I didn’t know that leaving behind normal would be this good.

Five years ago we flew across the ocean, landed in a strange world, met two little boys and everything changed.

Happy Meetcha Day Jameson Yonas Byron and Habtamu Theo Byron.

Now we know that you were exactly who we were waiting for.

.The Muslim Man with the Smile.

It was months ago that I first noticed him, sitting in a make-shift wheel chair on the corner, a blanket draped over the bottom half of his tunic wearing body, and a small khoffia (Muslim hat) on his head. He is elderly and frail, and it is obvious that he is crippled. When I first saw him, I thought his legs had been amputated, but have since learned that they are just withered and deformed. My home culture has taught me that a man of his religion is to be feared, but every time I walk by this man, I don’t feel fear, instead I feel curious joy.

It wasn’t the wheelchair, or his crippled legs that I first noticed, and neither was it his religious attire, but rather the smile that lit up his whole face day after day after day that he sits at the corner. He radiates joy and peace. He is crippled and obviously poor, but he smiles with such authenticity. There is something different about this old Muslim man. He is opposite of and doesn’t match the rhetoric that I so often hear about people who believe the way that he does. He is not the same as other beggars here either. Most, sit outside, asking for money, or jiggling their cupped hand with a few coins clanging together to solicit a few more from passerbys. But this man, he just sits still in his wheelchair and smiles at the people who walk past him. I don’t know if he receives much money. I have never seen anyone stop for him.

For months I passed him by too, but he would always catch my eye and smile, and I could not help but return that smile. It was involuntary. Since there are so few ferinji (white foreigners) in our community, I know that he quickly began to recognize me on my daily walks. As I left my gate, I began to look forward to walking by this man. There is so much need that surrounds me everyday. It is suffocating at times. I always pray that God will not let me grow hardened or used to the need here, and so far my bleeding heart has not allowed that to happen. My eyes will still burn with tears as we drive and encounter poverty around the city.  Sometimes it is exhausting, and feels hopeless; but I would rather hurt than not feel anything at all.

There are so many conversations about how to best help the poor and needy. The conversations are so good and wise, and I never want to do more harm than good. I know that can often times happen with soft hearts and good intentions. There are so many great arguments as to why one should never give money to a beggar. Sometimes I really do follow that practice, but sometimes there is no doubt that the Spirit moves me to break those rules. It is a fuzzy balance, and is one that I have written of before. My very own child was once a beggar on the street, and although the few coins that he received did not save his life or ultimately help him out of his situation, they did preserve his life until God’s timing for change took place. I cannot forget that, and it impacts how I daily live here. So, admittedly, I probably walk out a posture that some would think was wrong.

As the months added up, and I continued to exchange smiles with that old, kind Muslim man, I felt more and more convicted that I needed to drop just a few coins into his hand. And one day I did. As I bent over his chair, looked into his bright, brown eyes, and as our smiles matched, I gently dropped a few coins into his warm hand. He grabbed my hand, and covered it with both of his wrinkled with paper thin, chocolate skinned hands. His touch was so grandfatherly, and his eyes held a story, a story of life lived and wisdom and love, and I so badly wanted the Amharic to bend down next to him and hear his story. Instead my eyes held his just for a moment, and the twinkle and joy in his eyes pierced my heart.

The very next day he was gone. He had disappeared from his corner spot. My heart flip-flopped. My immediate thoughts were drawn to Hebrews 13:2 “Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels without realizing it!” Now my fundamental, black and white background would have squirmed at this thought, but I have seen things here that cannot be put into that box. I casually mentioned the verse to my husband and oldest son, and they smiled at me sideways. Habi joked about a “Muslim angel”.  I even began imagining things, maybe God was testing me, like in the parable of “the good Samaritan”, maybe He wanted to see if I would stop and pay attention to this man who practices a religion that I am supposed to fear. I was hoping maybe I passed the test. But day after day there was no sign of my sweet Muslim old man. After awhile I began to worry that something tragic had happened to him. Then just as quickly as he had disappeared, he reappeared.  And I once again started stopping by his chair for a moment to drop a few coins into his lap, and to see that smile up close.

I don’t have a pretty end to this story. I have not done the “missionary thing” and shared Jesus with him. My Amharic is far from able to do that, and translating on the side of the road is not really feasible. I don’t know his story, but I want to. I want to know why this crippled Muslim man sits in a wheelchair smiling that gigantic smile. I want to know where he disappeared to, and whom he calls family. Where does he sleep at night? What are his fears? What has he lived? I don’t know if I will ever find out, but I am going to try. Right now that trying starts with exchanging smiles, gifting a few coins, and whispering some Amharic greetings. Maybe I can convince my husband to push him home for a meal.

By the way, yesterday he added some big, flashy sunglasses to his ensemble, and I literally laughed out loud. I guess I am learning to look and find joy in the most unexpected places - like in the smile of a kind old, sunglass wearing, Muslim man.

.The Tension.

It’s been nearly a year. Nearly a year since we landed in Addis and emptied suitcases and threw ourselves into making this place our home. It has been nearly a year since we have begun the laborious process of establishing an NGO here, so that we can actually DO what we were called to do. It has been a year of God growing us, changing us, and pursuing us in remarkable and extravagant ways. It has not been a year without hardships and tears and questioning, but looking back it has been one of the best years that we have ever experienced. We have seen Jesus like never before. We have seen his transforming power, and we have witnessed the Kingdom break into daily life.

We came here desperate to put off any arrogance that we had in preconceived ideas about this culture and about the “right way to do things”. We prayed that God would humble us and make us learners in this journey. He answered our prayers over and over. We thought that the “right way” to do missions was to do business as missions. It is such a beautiful idea, and one that we felt compelled to flesh out. It also, honestly, sounds so much safer and comfortable to be able to support our mission with a business and not have to rely on churches and individuals to support us. We were eager and sold-out on this model, and prayed up, certain that this is how God was leading us. Only to have God literally slam every single door to every single business opportunity here in Addis in our faces.

Every time a door slammed, we heard His gentle whisper, trust Me.

It soon became evident that our ministry plan for street children was wildly different and wildly counter-culture, and radically going to take all of our efforts, all of our energy and focus in order to be done in a way that will bring glory to God. And the truth is, we came for the boys not a business. The business was an aside – it was just supposed to support us, but God has very clearly let us know that at this time, He wants us to trust Him for the support. So here we sit, fully reliant on people across the globe from us. To be authentic, that is scary, and it gets scarier as Jesus continues to whisper follow Me, trust Me.

I felt confident that In order to keep support and gain support, we need to tell stories. We need to tell you about the lives that Jesus has touched this past year. The sad stories, the sad photographs, they tug at people’s hearts, and they share the real need that is here, and I really, really bought into the necessity of them. But sometime this year in the midst of the stories and photos, the pause button was jammed on, and I started seeing things differently and questioning my motives with throwing up a photo on social media of a person in a horribly sad, vulnerable position – perhaps even a person we were able to help out of that position. Something wasn’t sitting right with me. My heart was beginning to feel uneasy. It started to feel a little bit like exploitation, and even objectification. But I knew that it worked. I knew that people across the ocean would be more likely to make a financial donation if I shared the photos of people suffering and their sad stories. If I shared about the man who tried to hang himself and about literally cutting down the rope and tucking him safely into family, about the teenage girl who came home so drunk every night that she had to be nearly carried up the stairs and undressed and cleaned up and placed into bed, about the hours upon hours spent in a hospital and then the deafening screams that came with AIDS diagnosis, about the baby who died from AIDS because we were just too late, and the father who refuses to have her brother tested, because he just cannot bare to know. About the woman who mourns for her murdered son. About the teenage boy who never knew his mother and endures beatings from his grandmother and meals at our table because at least then he gets fed. And even sharing this is making me want to delete the whole post. Because these are REAL PEOPLE, and their story is not my story to tell. I have no right.

And then in the midst of this wrestling one day, our son came to us with trembling lips and big eyes and said, “please do not post photos of street kids sleeping on the streets. It is wrong.” We were taken aback. Street kids is who God has called us to, telling their hard stories seemed like a great way to raise awareness and honestly, money, in order to be able to serve them. But this son who came to us that day, so visibly distraught had at one time, for several years, been one of those boys. He had had countless foreigners come and take his photo, photos of him when he was most dejected, most vulnerable, and still very, very much a child. He had been enrolled in numerous NGOs and his photos were distributed and used and profited on. And he never benefitted from it, and even years later it still hurts to have been exploited at the most vulnerable and challenging time in his life. We listen to this child when he speaks of this, because he knows. God has used his voice to mold and shape many of our dreams for our future ministry with street children. His voice is the same reason that we cannot do a drop-in center and feed street kids only to turn them back out onto the streets, because this exact kind of thing hurt our child more than it helped. It is why we have to pursue family-based care starting with a small number. It is why we cannot do behavioral modification but rather passionate pursuit of the heart of children. Although, there are good ministries right here in Addis with very different philosophies and practices that do great things, we have chosen to join in in a way that looks a bit different.  

So, we are trying to learn a new way. We are trying to be creative with how we share and what we share. It is why so many of our posts lately just focus on our day-to-day family life here in Ethiopia. It is so NOT because there is nothing to share, or we have not seen Jesus in people’s lives, but rather because we are still trying to figure this out. The use of photos and stories of disadvantaged people and vulnerable children to illustrate what we are doing, and what we need to raise money for risks exploiting humans - humans made in the image of God. For right now, we have decided not to take that risk. This creates quite a tension for us as missionaries. It is important that we share what Jesus is doing. People are supporting us, and they need to know how their support is impacting the Kingdom. But I think that people, whether in poverty, whether vulnerable and in crisis or not, have a right to share or not share their story. It is their choice. It is not mine. It is what we have always clung to with our boys who came to us via adoption. Their story is their story for when and if they are ever ready to share it with the world.

This is an ongoing conversation. We continue to press into Jesus and into the people He brings to us, and we continue this dance of knowing when and how to share with you. I believe that the answer is creating an avenue for their own voices in their own time and of their own free will. How? I don’t know. What does it look like? I have no idea. But there has to be a way, and I am desperate to figure it out. We still have so far to go, and so much to learn, but until then we press on keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus 

.On Mission.

We are entering our fourth month here in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. It is nothing and everything that I imagined it to be. It’s hard to know what and how to share life here. I want to be authentic and transparent, yet, at times transparency looks dangerously similar to complaining. As a newbie missionary being welcomed into this beautiful foreign country, I am sensitive about complaining about a culture that I am still getting the hang of. In all honesty, we have been welcomed and embraced here better than some foreigners are welcomed into our home country of America. So, I want to be respectful, and this silly, yet profound quote keeps swimming around in my head.

When the bull is in a strange country, it does not bellow. -Old Zulu proverb

At the same time, our life is far from glamorous, and most would be surprised to peek inside it and see how closely our mundane mimics your mundane. We are just doing life, living incarnationally, looking for ways to follow Jesus practically by loving and sharing the Good News with the people He places in our path, but we happen to be doing it across the ocean from many of you. And then there is also this silly myth that swirls around regarding missionaries, especially missionaries who sugar-coat life on the field. The myth that says missionaries are singled-out, special, elite, highly-talented, spiritual giant, super Christians. Well, I am here to blow that myth out of the water, because we are anything but that. Maybe there are missionaries who do fit that description, but we are not them, and most that I have met are not them. There is nothing super about us. We have fears and doubts and anxieties. We argue and bicker and make mistakes and messes. Some days are complete washes and we yell at our kids, worry too much, grumble and complain and wish for different circumstances. We are so very normal (or as normal as we can be). We are messy people who love Jesus just like you.

It is true that not every follower of Jesus is called to move overseas to live, but don’t let Satan fool you into thinking it is only the special ones that are called to be on mission. We are all given a mission field. Having moved here has actually opened my eyes wider to the fact that we had a mission field back home, the same as we have one here. God uses us all exactly where He places us when He places us, and no follower is more special because of what field God has placed him in. Each person is intimately equipped for the very place and time God has placed her in. For some that will be Africa or Asia, and for others it will be rural and suburban USA.

In just a few hours our calendars flip to a brand new year. It’s a fresh start to embrace the mission field that we each have been called to. Some are sent into the corporate business world, some into hospitals and medical clinics, some to villages in Africa, some to rock babies and cook meals and tend homes, some to churches and schools; no matter where you go this new year, you go, not just because it is your job or the rhythm of your life, you go because you are being sent to these very specific places by Jesus. You are being sent for this exact moment in time, and you are irreplaceable. That changes everything doesn’t it? No longer do we need to classify Christians into elitist groups, but rather we are unified as we realize that truly we all have a hand in building the Kingdom exactly where we are sent. The role of a missionary has been assigned to all of us who follow Jesus. So, this year, let’s tear down the silly pedestals and let’s throw ourselves into the field that we are sent to, supporting and encouraging one another, and their unique fields, along the way.

This is the day the Lord has made for me:

 This is the place the Lord has put me in...

 These are the people the Lord has given to me...

 Let me rejoice and be glad in them.

.Confessions of a Rookie Third World Missionary.

My family and I have now lived in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia for a little over a month. It has been everything and nothing like what we have expected, but slowly, surely it is becoming home. Here are a few things that I have experienced, learned, and observed along the way.

• ·      The weather is absolutely perfect. I have always been one to embrace season changes, and I become as excited as my children over snow days. However, to have this consistent, warm weather every day, to see the sun shining warmly in my bedroom window every morning at 6 AM is amazing. We are experiencing Ethiopia’s summer – their dry season. There has not been a hint of rain since we arrived. Of course I will miss the snow days and the magic they bring to the holidays (Elvis Presley Christmas music playing in my kitchen is helping some), but to be tanned and warm at the end of November is pretty lovely.
• ·        Nothing is easy here. I prepared for this and expected it, but honestly there is no real preparation for living it. Every menial task takes at least three times as long. Sometimes that is due to power outages or water outages, sometimes it is due to lack of convenience products, appliances, and sometimes I just have no explanation for why everything takes so long and is is so hard. It just is. Traveling is hard. Shopping is hard. Cooking is hard. Cleaning is hard. Communicating is hard. Life really is harder, BUT, even though we are probably still in the honeymoon period, I dare say it really is sweeter. Accomplishing any task is so fulfilling and rewarding. I fall into bed so happy when I know that I have washed, dried, folded and put away a basket of laundry AND cooked a good, safe meal for my family. I am sleeping better than I have in years, because I am so exhausted. Life here is difficult. It is hard. It is rewarding. It is worth it.
• ·        Now I say nothing is easy here, but to be completely honest, I make things harder on myself (big, fat surprise to those of you who know me – snark, snark). The majority of Americans that we know (missionaries included) have hired domestic staff. There are so many reasons for this; one is respect for the culture and to give back to the culture and economy by hiring Ethiopians. Another reason is because, as I mentioned, everything takes three times as long, and in order for most people to come and do what they are called to do or hired to do, they have to have help with the day-to-day tasks, or else there is just literally not enough hours in the day. But my first priority mission field is my husband, my children, and my home, so right now that is where I pour all of myself into. Because of this. we have not hired a full domestic staff, however, we have hired a part time housekeeper that will help me with some of the cleaning, and we plan to hire a nanny for Jamesy. Once I start homeschooling again (we are still on our summer break) we may have to reevaluate and hire additional staff – specifically a cook. This is hard for me to let go of, though, and I am really praying through what God is asking of me as we live here. And so, right now I do a lot of the stuff that staff would typically do for foreigners living here.
• ·        The city has really been built up since we were here two years ago.  There are stoplights and traffic signs and things are becoming more modern. Police (or “traffic” as most people here refer to them as) are everywhere. They seem to be quick to {try to} pull people over, but I am learning that most people just duck their head, avoid eye-contact and drive on! It is pretty wild to see. Driving in general is wild and crazy. I am really proud of my husband for getting his license and driving all over the city. I, on the other hand, have no plans {ever} to get my license {shudder}.
• ·        Produce here is plentiful and cheap. We load up on produce every week and really love the availability of so many fresh fruits and veggies. Being from upstate NY, there are only a few months of the year that we were able to have access to fresh produce. Most of the time, it was shipped in from other climates and sub-par. Most of the produce (save watermelons, but perhaps we got a bad one) taste better here, too. The oranges are actually not orange, but greenish, yellow and they are so sweet and juicy! It is time-consuming, but for our safety, all of our produce has to be very carefully sanitized before consuming or really even handling too much. With the amount of produce we purchase, this is an all-afternoon task for me, but once done, we really enjoy grabbing fruits to snack on, and I love the abundance of veggies to cook with.
• ·        Hyenas are very, very loud. I never knew the noise that hyenas made, but every night around midnight they travel to our neighborhood and howl and yelp for about an hour. It is quite an experience to hear, and because we live in the mountains, the echoes are eerie. One of these nights, we are going to take a spot light, go onto one of our balconies and try to shine it on the pack of hyenas to see them.
• ·        Spiders are everywhere. Every. Where. Every night I check my bed for them. They are huge and gross. I have bites all over my body, and I am trying to just pretend they are normal mosquito bites. And I found a HUGE mouse (maybe rat) on my stove burner. Enough said.
• ·        My children are awesome. I already knew this, but seeing the way they have acclimated to a new culture and to so much change is amazing. They are resilient and strong and encourage me every single day. They are doing so great and loving so big. I am so proud of all of them.
• ·        We could not just land in Ethiopia and immediately begin our mission work. This has probably been one of the toughest things. However, the government is really cracking down, and we must follow all of the laws, so that we do not ever have to fear being permanently banished from this country. So we plug along, working towards our NGO status, then work and residency permits. Thankfully, we found out today, we are here on the right visas to do this and should not have to leave the country for two years as originally planned. This whole process goes back to what I said about everything takes T-I-M-E. But in the in-between God is already giving us opportunities to build relationships and love big on people – we don’t need a work permit to do that, and I believe that even during this space and time God has plans for our family .So we forge ahead learning how to just live life here and sharing the love and mercy of Jesus with whomever it is that God places in our path on a given day. We are living life on mission, and I could not love that more – every day is truly an adventure!
• ·        God is here in this city. He is working and moving and His Kingdom is being built. He didn’t need us to move here to accomplish His work, yet He invited us in. I am truly thankful and excited to see what is ahead!

There is so much more that I could write, but for now this will do.

Wifi is pretty sketchy, but I am hoping to get this to publish. Thank you for your continued support, prayer, and encouragement – we feel it!

.A Moment.

I am sitting here pecking out letters that race across my screen, and I know I should be packing instead. Because in just 17 (almost 16 now) days our family boards a plane and embarks on a new journey in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia serving street children. I am giddy about that and about all that God is inviting us into, but this moment, right now, I am even more giddy about the absolute miracle that is about to unfold tomorrow.

It was January 20, 2011, when I first laid eyes on him, and in the 1,335 days and 32,044 hours between that moment and tomorrow I have not stopped dreaming of and fighting for this very day.  It was a moment. Just one minuscule, unnoticeable to passers-by, moment, and my life and its path were forever changed. I have said it all here a thousand times a thousand different ways, but the story doesn't get old. How could it? Out of the almost 8 billion people that live in this world, out of all the millions of street boys - a woman born into luxury and comfort and a boy born into squalor and pain, an ocean apart, collided in what could only have been a God-ordained moment. And it really was only that - a moment. A few words exchanged, a few tears, a beaded bracelet and some granola bars. But that was all it took for our hearts to become entwined.

I have repeated it so many times, and it sounds crazy - even still - but I knew the moment our eyes held each others that God was up to something. I knew this child was destined to be my son, and I his mama. There were so many other boys that day. I had been tugged on, hugged, and begged from, but in that moment, I only had eyes for one.  I knew he was mine when his grubby, little hand thrust the beaded bracelet through our van window, because my heart could not contain the moment. I could not fathom another breath without knowing that this child was safe and secure, wanted and loved. Every single day since then, I have expended myself to be sure that he knows this with every fiber of his being. In that van that day, a new part of me was born, a fighter, a part of me that I did not know I possessed. Even then courage took root, and I turned to our friend, Job, and asked what was the likely hood of me adopting a street boy - that boy. He smiled at me, amused at my ignorance and naivety, and said "Oh, Tiffany, that is impossible."  And when I typically would have just backed-down, as was my nature, a fighter emerged. I nodded, and prayed, and dreamed big, and I ignored the impossible.

I ignored the impossible because I have a God who specializes in the impossible. If ever I doubt this, all I have to do is look back over these past three years and remember the way that God has smashed through the impossibles and obliterated the no's. God taught me how to stand up and to fight for justice in this journey, but the truth is that He didn't need me to do anything. He could have done this without me. All of the glory is His. The only thing I did was step into His invitation, and even in that I am pretty certain He dragged me in.

.

The day I met Habi.

Tomorrow, a miracle happens. Tomorrow, what so many people told us was impossible happens. Tomorrow that moment - the one that took place on the dusty street of Addis, comes full-circle. Tomorrow, what we were told would never happen is happening, our family stands before a judge, and my sweet, precious boy, the one that is so connected to my heart in a way that could only be supernatural, becomes my legal SON. 

Our God still preforms miracles, He is the exact same God that made the sun stand still for Joshua, and He still moves mountains to do the impossible. Tomorrow He is moving that mountain for us. This has not been an easy journey, for anyone involved. It has not been without tears and fear and heart-ache, but every single step along the way has been worth it. I would do it all over again in a heart beat.

In just a moment that boy will become mine.

[If you are new here, and don't know this story, click here.]

.Homestretch.

First we targeted January, and then June to move our family to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. But God still had things for us to learn in the here and now. He was still preparing our family - tweaking us here and there  - and growing us as we realize this too is part of the journey. We continue to push and pray and trust His timing, although it's not always comfortable or easy, and some days we just plain don't like the timeline we are on, and honestly feel as if, at times, we are being yanked around. But in the still quiet moments, when we take the time to really search our hearts, we know that He is here and has allowed us to remain still for a reason and a season - for a purpose. We trust that. And in this moment, we have been present for so much, for our baby girl to attend her first (and perhaps last) ever year in a traditional school, for our oldest son to get to experience another year of soccer here in America and recent surgery to repair a torn ACL and meniscus, for the death and funeral of my grandma, the birth of our niece, the moment we got the call that my sister had suffered several strokes and God had spared her life, for Jamesy to grow and thrive and develop his communication skills in huge ways, for Scotty to participate in soccer for the first time, for moments spent with extended family that otherwise could not have happened, and for all of the in between moments that we will tuck into our hearts and carry across the ocean - moments that will sustain us on those days when we are so homesick and question what we have done - for those are sure to come.

It's been a little over a year now since we said "yes, we will move to Africa, yes, we will sell our belongings, yes, we will leave behind our family and the life we have built here, and yes, we will devote our lives to sharing the mercy of Jesus with children living on the streets of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia."

Sell everything and go.

It sounds so easy and simple, but the actual reality of it is long and arduous and sometimes hard. We are living this right now, and it takes a toll in huge ways. But in it all we continue to see God's hand, His confirmation, and amazing ways in which He is moving in order for us to be able to move.

In the midst of the questions and conversations, we see Him.

We have counted the cost so many times - the physical, relational, and mental costs. We have prayed over the safety of our children and we have mourned all that we leave behind and all that we will miss.

the births
the deaths
the birthdays
the holidays
the phone calls
the drop-ins
the luxuries
the conveniences

And everything in between.

It's a complicated season - a complicated dance - a choice to continue to say yes, to continue to obey and put one step in front of the other, even when those steps seem to still be so far behind the finish line of actually moving. We are fleshing out this call of obedience to the children of Addis - even here in the wait and the pursuit. We are in the reality of the flippantly used phrase "sell everything and go". A phrase that has taken us a year to live out and begin to understand.

And in the hard, there have been tears, frustrations, mourning, questions, restlessness, and uncertainty, but there has also been determination, grace, mercy, peace, laughter, hope, expectation and no turning back.

We're in the homestretch now. We're not the same people that we were a year ago when we set out on this adventure, and a year from now, I hope the same will be true. This all has been part of the beautiful story the Author is writing over our family. His pen is poised over the next chapter, and we are ready for Him to scratch out this next part.

With pounding hearts, a little fear, a lot of hope, and open hands, we are nearing ready.


[To learn more about how we hope to partner with God in building His Kingdom in Addis Ababa, please visit our site here.]