Sitting in the middle of February, we find ourselves processing. I thought our mid-February processing would mean documents shuffling across the desk of a Ghanian lawyer, preparing for a day in court. I expected to schedule flights, pack luggage, and find babysitters for our kids at home so we could meet our new kiddos in Africa for the first time. But alas, God is asking us to process differently.
The news of ending our adoption plans with Edmond and Edina warranted a reckoning with the fragility of international adoption. For Tim, this uncovered corruption brings new resolve to maintain integrity in our adoption process and ensure stability in the plan. Camping out in the fragile for a while has been my approach.
After my last post here, phone calls, texts, and facebook messages acknowledged my broken heart. Individuals at work, at church, heck...even at Wal-Mart offered hugs that brought more tears. Sharing our story means sharing our pain. I've never been a fan of crying, but this whole adoption situation might change my crying philosophy!
One particular epic cry moment happened two weeks ago at church. Tim missed church on account of (ANOTHER) Sunday morning snow. (He pushes snow for a living...more on that later.) That morning, I felt a deep nudge to share about our experience of loss with the church. Tim and I consider our church "family" and I wanted them to be informed. I had already posted here, and as a result, many people knew about our adoption process status, but other dear prayer warriors from church did not know this new disruption in our adoption plan.
When sharing time came, I realized I wouldn't be able to share without tears, and if you know me, I don't do tears, so I decided I couldn't share. Not that day.
However, as others shared, I conjured up a real business-like way to share our fallen-through adoption and convinced myself I could do it without crying. Well, my brain and my heart must have miscommunicated.
I announced four words (real business-like) before I choked up and couldn't speak at all. I sank into my pew, shoulders heaving, trying my best at "silent sobbing" (either I'm a total newby or silent sobbing doesn't exist).
And I sat, ugly crying in front of the entire congregation.
Here's what I learned that morning about ugly crying in church...
First, it's humiliating and ruins your make-up. However, you will quickly find reasons two through five far outweigh the woes of running mascara.
Second, unlike my first inclination with criers (RUN AWAY), many people possess the true gift of nurture. As I sat down that morning, unable to tell the whole story, church members rushed to my side. And then (more tears) I witnessed Sunday school teachers, family, and friends hold tight to my daughters, dealing with their own broken hearts. Dear, dear "family" embraced our struggle while the pastor and others prayed over our family. Nurturing people proved to me that transparency (even in the ugly crying form) gives them an opportunity to use a gift God granted for specific moments like this. (Thank you hugging, hand-holding, tissue givers...you know who you are!)
Third, sharing my pain opened the doors for others to show compassion. After the service, individuals from my church lined up to tell how they also felt loss. Tender stories, some from decades ago, came from men and women alike. Each one with an experience of loss and a promise that God is faithful. Compassion became a theme in every story, hug, and smile. Hurting hurts less when others cry too.
Fourth, my church is awesome. That Monday, and for many days to come, our family received cards. Lots of cards. They offered encouragement, prayer, and hope. You know when you go to church and people walk by, or even stop to chat and always ask, "How are you?" and you (and everyone else for that matter) say, "I'm good!"and then you go on your way and celebrate the friendliness of church-goers? Well, ever since my complete mess of tears in front of our church, people stop me and they want to know how I am...how I really am. And I tell them.
I tell them it is hard, but God is good and then I tell them why. Sometimes, what used to be a 6-second conversation turns to 10 minutes. And this, folks, is the church being the church, sharing pain and carrying it right alongside me so that the burden is a little lighter and the future seems a little brighter.
My church hasn't all of the sudden gotten awesome, it's always been amazing. This is just the first time I've exposed my heart to this extent. That Sunday morning, with my tears, my heart mouthed, "Help me." And they ran to answer my heart cry. They are marvelous people being used as the tender hands of God to wipe away my tears. I love them! I love God and his plan of believers living in community. If you don't have a church family, my ugly cry morning would strongly suggest you find one!
[And here's my shout out to First Menno! I love living in community with you!]
Fifth, (last, but not least...probably the GREATEST) prayer works. Thanks to the thousands of prayer warriors checking in here and to my church family for praying! So many friends assure me that prayers continue to be offered up on behalf of Edmond and Edina. I won't be surprised to find them true Ghanian royalty someday because of the investments of prayer. People across the globe are depositing eternal pleas for their protection and prosperity! To tell you the truth, my prayers for them have taken on new urgency and fervor.
I know people are praying for us too and our journey to adopt because I can testify that God is up to something...BIG.
I can't wait to tell you about it.
But that testimony is for another post. I need a bit more processing before I confidently share how this part of the our journey nudges us into something greater in our quest to touch orphans for Christ. I'm not even sure what it looks like yet, but believe me, I am sitting on the edge of my seat!
But now, today, in this post, I can honestly say, "I am thankful for the process." The process contains valuable lessons built in to prepare us for the end result. Thank you, God, for this part of our story and for people who mirror your compassion. And thank you, God, for allowing me to camp out in the fragile and attain a better understanding of your tenderness and care. I love You and Your plan, even in the struggle.
Oh, and about the aforementioned snow: we prayed for God to provide financially for this adoption and Tim has pushed enough snow to add mountains to our adoption fund. So, sorry if you live in Indiana and hate snow, I may or may not have prayed in our snowpocalypse!
