.The Truth Is.

It plagues me.

I've never talked about this here - or anywhere, and I never have allowed myself to realize how much this haunts me - until today. I'm going there, but I am not yet sure if I can make myself publish this.

I dream about it, waking up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, and my stomach queasy. Fear hangs over me, and I hate it. It dampens the joy a bit, and it hovers mockingly. I know the fear is not from God. I wish that  fear would just leave my life forever. Its grip is cruel and ridiculous. I am frustrated that I am still dealing with this old, horrible issue. The same issue I have battled my entire life.

I fear this will all end, and he will be sent back. To type that just adds to the fear, to admit "out loud" the possibility that this really could come to an abrupt and ugly halt. And although sometimes my fears are irrational, this one is wrapped up in reality. I know that my God is bigger, and I know and marvel over all that God did to join our family together. But the fear snakes around my heart and hisses the fact that his visa expires this July, and that really, we have no ties to him. That's only a little over three months away. I know the truth that he can stay on an expired visa, but just the thought of an expired visa makes my heart race a little faster.

The truth is, he's not mine.

As much as I feel like he is, as much as I know in my heart that he is my son, and that there is no difference with the way I love him, then if I had carried him nine months and birthed him; I also realize that beyond that, I have no real, legal rights to him as my son. And just being completely transparent, it is a scary place to be. I have lost my heart completely to this child. I am trying to savor every single moment, with the knowing that it could be taken away. It makes me physically sick to understand what that means - for him - for us.

My camera documents everything, my eyes and heart have been opened to anything that we can celebrate and cherish and applaud. I have written down memories upon memories, and I have tucked so many of our conversations into my heart. These past, almost eight months, I have poured my life out into all four of my children, but especially into him, because if something happens, if this all comes to a crashing, horrific ending, I don't ever, ever want him to question whether he was loved, wanted, and cherished.

The truth is, none of these children are mine, and for a person with chronic control issues, that's a tough pill to swallow. I know that any of the four could succumb to an illness or a horrible accident at any time. I know the truth that they are all God's, and that He is just letting me steward the responsibility of raising them in the here and now. Tomorrow is not promised. But I don't sit in fear over the other three. It's just the one.

I am not just sitting here wallowing in fear, though; we are fighting to make this permanent. Most days that knowledge let's me push back the fear. But today it's choking me. I just want to cocoon my family away from the world, away from the questions as to why we chose this, and the accusations about why we post on facebook so much about Habi, and why we make such a big deal about Habi, well, I guess this is an authentic, painful peak into the why. I guess this is one of the reasons why we are told not to judge people, because so many times we do not have all of the facts. Perhaps if you were in my shoes, with the reality that you could lose your child, you would do something differently. I hope that I would accept that.

There is nothing beautiful or glamorous about this post. It's not very thought-out or well-written, and I cannot wrap it up into a sweet, little spiritual conclusion that ends in a but it's all going to be alright. We have no guarantee that this will end the way we are fighting for it to end. What I can do, is hug that big boy extra tightly when he comes home tonight, and memorize the way he smells, and the sound of his laugh, the way his hair curls against his ears, and how his eyes light up when Jamesy says a word, and the kindness that radiates from him when he is helping Scotty, and the spunky way that he picks on Cadi, and then moments later wraps her in his arms and tells her what a good sister she is. I can celebrate his 100% on his vocabulary tests which he worked so hard on studying for, and I can notice the way he watches his dad, then emulates him, and beams when his dad calls the man out in him. For today that is what I can do. I cannot do anything to be certain that this will last, or that he is here to stay, but I can be present in the here and now. I can and I will do that.

And for today, that will have to be enough.

.I'm Scared.

I have been putting off writing this post. I think I was hoping that the feelings would fade or change, but they haven't. I leave for Ethiopia in three weeks, for my first ever third world country mission trip, and I'm scared. It's kind of funny, I have been to Ethiopia twice, and I fell in love with the country, the culture, and even more - the people. I truly love Ethiopia, and I am beyond excited to go back to a place that feels oddly very much like home.

But mingled in with that excitement is very real, very big, ugly fear.

I have never hidden the fact here that I am a big, fat, fraidy cat. I have mentioned it over and over. Fear is one of the biggest sin issues in my life. It crippled my walk with Jesus Christ for most of my life. I battle it daily. There are a lot of reasons why I could be scared to go on a mission trip. I am leaving my three children behind (one of whom has severe special needs and has only ever been left over night once since bringing him into our care), I am flying across the ocean, I am going to be exposed to parasites and diseases and filth, my comfort level will be shattered, I will see things that will haunt me for the rest of my life, my level of comfort in my American Christianity will again, no-doubt, be questioned, I will be sleep-deprived and emotional, etc. etc. But, oddly enough, none of that is what has my heart pounding in fear. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that missions and spreading the gospel is God's will for every single disciple of Jesus. I know that He is asking me to love Him more than my children, and get on that plane, and go to Ethiopia. I know that this stay-at-home-mama needs her routine shaken up a bit in order to be used to advance the kingdom. I am at peace with all of that.

I have been praying over this trip. I have prayed for God to change me, to mold me more into His image, to allow me to be used for His kingdom, and I have even been praying those words that I so earnestly prayed last year before going to Ethiopia the first time. It was easier praying that prayer last year, before I understood the depth of the pain and hurt that comes with God answering that prayer.

God, break my heart for the things that break yours.

But even as I pray those words and prepare my heart, I have been holding onto a little corner of my heart - trying to hide it and keep it safe.

Because I am scared that it may really happen. I am scared that God is going to break my heart all over again. Just when things are settling into a more comfortable rhythm with our family, just when Habi is on the verge of possibly joining our family, could I really go through any of this again? I am scared that God may have another "Jamesy" or "Habtamu" in mind for me on this trip. And as much as I love those two boys with every inch of my heart and would never trade a second of knowing, loving, and fighting for them, I'm not ready to have my heart broken for another person. How can I possibly shed another tear for another fatherless child? I am afraid that my heart cannot take it again. I am not sure if I even want my heart messed up again. I am so sensitive and tenderhearted. I still have nightmares from what I witnessed a year and a half ago on my first trip to Ethiopia. I was not cut out for this kind of stuff. God gave me the gift of empathy, but that gift has morphed into something out of my control these past three years. I am not certain that I want to make myself look like more of a weirdo, or lose friendships over my intensity, empathy, and passion. I'm kind of ready to just fit in again, but I guess even going on this mission trip as a mommy of three littles takes me out of the running of fitting in. That's just not something most responsible mommies in my kind of church do. Teenagers, sure, but mommies?? Somewhere along the way I have turned into someone very abnormal. I am not sure how that happened to this perfectly contented to be, once upon a time, wallflower.

Even as I write this, I am getting more clarity, as I finally put these rambling thoughts into words and they flow from my fingers, I realize that this whole fear thing is wrapped tightly up in self. This has nothing to do with me. My response has been all wrong. What if God had decided that He did not want to "mess up" His own heart? What would my life look like if God had not loved me when I was so unlovable? What if He had said, Enough, I cannot take it anymore. It's too heart breaking, too messy, to love one more person.

I am not a hero. I am not a rescuer. I don't have a "white man burden" or savior complex.  I can never save the world or even just all of the fatherless children. I know that, and it's not my job. I am not even a good Christian or so spiritually mature.

I am just a shy, fearful, cautious, homebody, stay-at-home-mommy, who was shown the deep, deep love of Jesus. And that love is moving my feet - clumsily at times.

And even if it breaks my heart all over again - it's not about me. I don't want to miss out on what really matters in this life. I don't want to miss out on God's best for me in exchange for something really good. Even if I am made an outcast in the mommy circles. Even if it hurts, and is hard, and costs me and changes me in ways that are uncomfortable, and yes, even if God has in mind for me another "Jamesy" or another "Habi", it is the right thing to do. It is right to make my heart vulnerable to whatever and whomever it is that God has me going on this trip to Ethiopia for. Because this is not about me. This is about advancing God's kingdom and bringing glory to God!

So, I am doing it. For now, I am doing it scared.

But I'm doing it.

.This Is Real {EDITED}.

{EDIT: Cadi's platelet count is at 40K!!! This is up from 25K last Tuesday. We continue to pray those platelets up. God is good and faithful, even though my flesh fails. Thank you so much for praying and holding our family up.}



This is real.

My flesh is screaming out this stinks.

My heart knows that this is for my own good (Romans 8:28), this is to draw me closer to God, and make me look more like Jesus, but honestly, at the expense of my daughter?! My heart knows that the reason for this happening to Cadi is to bring glory to His name (Romans 11:36). Why did He choose our family? It is humbling and maddening all in one. I have new compassion and empathy for parents with terminally and chronically ill children. While we have only experienced a minute amount of what comes with that with our Cadi, I understand a little bit more now.

My flesh is screaming out I don't want to understand.

Cadi  is with Jim right this moment getting her seventh blood draw in thirty days - we are a month into this I.T.P. diagnosis. Honestly, I was not too concerned when I first heard the diagnosis. I thought for sure Cadi would be an acute case, and that she would be back to normal in a week or two. Most of the time I can function like this is not happening, until I remember to check Cadi's gums and find bleeding, her body and find huge bruises, until I look into Cadi's eyes some moments and see just a tired shell of herself. I am pretty strong until my sister sits beside me and opens the wellspring of grief and fear that I have been trying to stuff down, and the sobs just come sure and strong. But most days I am okay in this.

I'm not sure if I am okay with this today.

 My stomach is churning, and I will pace my kitchen waiting for that phone call that will determine how this next week will go for us. Another wait and see on pins and needles, praying to God that she does not get hurt or sick? Or a week of rejoicing over platelets that are up? Or will this finally be the week where we have to go the awful steroid route?

I am pretty much all over the place.

Of course this morning when I want to mope around and feel sorry for us, I get hit over the head with this verse.

Psalm 73:26 My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

So this morning instead of waiting for that call in my own strength, perhaps I will wait in God's strength, remembering that HE is my portion.

I will be back, friends, with her count. I am praying for at least 50k. Logically this is unrealistic, she has developed so many awful bruises this week, and has absolutely no color in her face - signs of dropping platelets.

But my Jesus, my Jesus is stronger than any logic.