Rest & Trust

I was inspired yesterday by something my high school youth pastor wrote on Facebook. (I never thought I would write a blog post inspired by a FB status but here we are).

"I started recognizing I wasn't truly trusting God and began to shift away from anxious activity toward rest and trust. Taking my hands off of things. We are standing on what we believe are promises from God and I am doing everything I can to hear his voice and not act otherwise."

While his circumstances are very different from mine, this resonated so deeply with me because I could have written it myself. Trust is trust, it doesn't discriminate against circumstance.

Trust, such a simple one syllable word. A word that we can easily take for granted by not giving it much weight or depth. A word we can throw around saying we mean, but when intricately looked at and dissected, will either expose the fact that we didn't mean it or validate that we do.

Lately, I have found myself saying, "I trust God with this process" and yet I am completely knocked off my feet by a concerning email or yet again another change of events in our process. It doesn't take much for me to get thrown into a flurry of anxiety and worry these days and that is not trust.

I say, "I trust God with this" and yet I am constantly keeping myself busy with tasks, finding any way I can to "keep my mind off" the situation. I have distracted myself into trust. That is not trust, not real trust anyway.

But what happens in the quiet moments? The moments where everything slows down. The moments where I have time to think. The moments where there hasn't been an update in a while. The moments of waiting. The moments where everything is a mess and is unknown.

If I am not able to confidently rest in the silence, trusting that He is good, His plans are good, and His promises are faithful, am I really trusting Him?

Or what happens when the roller coaster of updates begins to take off and the news bounces between good and bad at every turn?

If I immediately begin to analyze and overanalyze until my chest is physically aching in pain due to the anxiety I have stirred up, am I really trusting?

True real trust means being able to sit in the silence. It means being able to sit in the mess of the unknown without needing a task or allowing your brain to run through the curated list of worst case scenarios.

Trust means that even though you have no idea what the outcome will be, or what will come from the messy situation that seems to keep getting messier, you can rest in peace anyway.

When God asks us to trust him, it usually requires us to take action. The action most commonly associated is probably a brave, valiant hero we've conjured from a movie. But I think the greatest and bravest action that God requires us to take when trusting Him is to rest. To sit in his presence, to not be encumbered by lists and tasks, to do nothing except lean into Him and trust that He has it all under control.

Happy Birthday Sweet Girl

On the first of June, we celebrated our girl's 11th birthday. Leading up to the day and since, I have been caught in the tension of wanting to ignore the emotions and pretend its a normal day and wanting to honor and celebrate her.

While on her birthday we (Barry, Tsega, and I) spent the day together eating Ethiopian food and singing happy birthday to her, I wanted to do something else to honor her, to remind her that there is not a day that goes by that she is not thought of, loved, or prayed for.

A few months ago, I wrote a poem of sorts for a project. This poem was completely inspired by her and the Holy Spirit. He gave me a deep empathy for not only her, but all older children who are waiting in foster care and/or orphanages.

This poem is about being an older child caught in the waiting. While I have obviously never personally experienced this, I do feel that I can deeply empathize with what it's like and the identity crisis it can create.

I've never shared anything like this before, so please be gentle.

Broken

shattered into pieces on the floor waiting for

someone to put me back together. 

Together

what we once were now lost and forsaken and my heart is achin’ hoping I won’t be pulled down by these emotions in the undertakin’. 

Taken

everything’s been taken from me, I don’t know where I am, where to go but I am hoping that you’ll find me. 

Me

your daughter, the one you’ve lost.  Don’t you care that I’m gone? Don’t you care that I’m lost?

Lost

in a sea of strangers, panic creeping over me, confusion clouding my memory. When will these people stop asking me to solve the pieces to this puzzle I didn’t ask to be a part of?

A part of

like I used to be a part of a family, like I long to be a part of a family. Trapped in this cage waiting to break free, knowing that life has more for me, that I don’t have to be trapped in this ambiguity, knowing that there’s someone who doesn’t just want a part of me but all of me and I don’t have to give it away for free. 

Free

can I truly be free? Will I always be stuck chasing my identity? Tossed by the waves of where I’m from and where I want to be. Are they even coming back for me?

Will they be this quote unquote family? Will they help me finish my symphony? Or will I always be the soloist in this orchestrated company? 

One Year

It's been one year. One year since we walked into the overcrowded courthouse with several other families anxiously awaiting their turn in front of the judge. One year since we sat down in front of a judge with Tsega on our laps and answered question after question about our girl. One year since our adoption has been finalized and we legally became her parents (through the Ethiopian government).

And yet, this is isn't at all how I expected to commemorate this day. I didn't expect that a year later things would be the same if not messier than they were when we had to say goodbye to our sweet girl and board a plane without her to America. I did not expect that on this day I would have two children on two different sides of the world.

What I expected, what I had planned was that the four of us would all be together on the same continent, in the same house eating Ethiopian food, laughing, talking, and reminiscing about the past year. The growth that had been made, the hardships we'd overcome, and the memories created in our first year as a family of four. If things had gone my way, I would have two children asleep in their rooms right now and I would probably not be writing a blog post.

There are so many things I could say about the emotions this day brings. So many things I can say about the injustice of this whole situation and how I hate that our daughter is the one being hurt the most by all of this.

However, I won't bore you with the emotional rant, but I do want to ask for your prayers.

This blog has been pretty quiet over the past year, and that is mostly due to the fact that there really hasn't been much to update on. But, just because we haven't been updating doesn't mean we haven't been fighting. We have been fighting extremely hard and for an extremely long time. Our souls feel pretty beat down, and the weight of it all can be crushing to say the least. So if you think of us, please pray. Also pray for our daughter, I can only imagine how confused, lonely, worried, and a plethora of other emotions she has been going through over the past year. We don't get to communicate with her so we can't reassure her that we haven't forgotten about her or given up on her.

This battle has been arduous and we are VERY hopeful it will come to an end this year but if you could pray with us we'd greatly appreciate it.


The Jordans

National Adoption Month

November is National Adoption Month.
I have been pondering all month about what to say in honor of this month and here I am coming through a day late, but I couldn't let another year go by.

The truth is that it has been hard for me to put into words exactly what I wanted to say. There is so much to say about adoption and my story is only one side of it.

I have gone back and forth on the format and the content of this post. I didn't want to come across as negative or discouraging because my heart is not in either of those things. I also thought about writing about the importance of adoption but I didn't want to paint a one-sided picture.

So I decided to just go with what was on my heart.

This post is for those who have maybe watched an adoption journey from the sidelines (or maybe are starting one) because there is a side of the adoption that often gets written off and forgotten and it's the side that is often impacted the most.

This post is written from a deep place of love but it's purpose is to help shape a new perspective and to open eyes.

The truth is adoption is messy. It's complicated, and it is not something that can just be written off as a "blessing".

There are four types of conversations I have encountered since Barry and I stepped foot on this journey almost 4 years ago. Four things that have heavily stuck out to me and made me realize that the way people view us and more importantly our child are not the way I want the world to look at us when they see our family.

I have merged the four types of conversations into the following categories.

Judgement 
Savior Complex 
Mourning 
Privacy 

Judgement:

One of the things that I found most surprising in our adoption journey is the amount of judgment we've received. Not necessarily about the fact that we were/are adopting (I expected that) but about the way we were going about adoption. The fact that we chose the route of International Adoption over domestic seemed to appall many people. The funny thing was, these weren't people that were pursuing domestic foster care or adoption, they were *mostly* people who've never even pursued adoption at all. Maybe you are reading this and you were (or are) one of these people, let me help you see a new perspective.

God loves children. All children. It doesn't matter what country they were born in, what family they were born into, or what language they speak. He loves them all and he loves them all the same. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.

He doesn't look at one child or orphan and say one is more important than the other. They are all loved, valued, and equally important to him.

We have many friends who do (or have done) foster to adopt/domestic adoptions, we love that! Those kids need love and need families just as much as children born in other countries. However, God called us on a different journey with our adoption and that is perfectly okay.

So if someone you know is walking the adoption journey and you don't "agree" with the choice they have made, I would like you to take a look at what you are really saying. AND, if you still don't "agree" then I encourage you to be part of the solution and consider doing foster care and/or adoption.

For those of you walking this adoption journey who may have received this type of judgement, know you are not alone.

Savior Complex:

Often as Christians we talk about the "beauty" of adoption. What a "gift" and "blessing" it is.  While I know these terms and phrases are well meaning, I often feel very uncomfortable when people start telling me that my child is so "blessed" to have us as his parents and we are doing a "good thing".

I am baffled by the number of people who have told me (or people in our family) how "lucky" Tsega is or how "grateful he should be" or how "blessed he is".

I know most people mean well when they say things like this, but I again want to open your eyes to what you're really saying when you make comments like this.

The picture you are painting is a child orphan in need of us (the parents) as a savior.

I never want to be looked at as some kind of savior because that is simply not the case. We did not rescue our child. We are not his Savior, we don't view it that way and we don't want anyone else who looks at our family to view it that way either.

Yes, these children need families to love, care, and help them heal and yes we are and can provide that but we didn't swoop down and save him like some super hero. The only savior our kiddo or any kiddo for that matter needs is Jesus.

That mindset can be very dangerous.

Mourning:

Adoption is Plan B. Maybe not for the adoptive family but for the child (and often everyone else involved) it's Plan B. Children belong in families and they deserve to be with their biological families first and foremost. However, we live in a broken world and that is often not feasible or safe for the child.

Enter Adoption.

The key thing here is adoption is rooted in loss. DEEP loss. Regardless of whether the child entered the adoptive family's arms the minute they were born (for those that think a child adopted at infancy can't suffer trauma, please message me) or 11 years after they were born it is rooted in deep loss. There is no lack of evidence to show the bond that is created between a mother and child in utero, that doesn't just go away when a child enters a new home no matter how loving and open the arms receiving them are.

Children being adopted lose their biological mother, their family, their home (sometimes multiple homes), friends and so much more, not to mention the abuse/trauma that most of them have gone through.

That is a lot for a grown adult to go through let alone a child, and failure to acknowledge or deal with that can further the damage that's already been done.

Yes, God can and does redeem and he can turn a messy, tragic, desperate situation and make it beautiful, but that takes time and a lot of hard work. Often continuous work that is never really done.

Something to keep in mind the next time you see a child who was adopted and you're tempted to call them "lucky" or "blessed", while it is great that they are in a healthy family and environment, what they have gone through to get there was not lucky.

The trauma that children who are in foster care and/or are adopted experience is also not information for the world to know, which leads me to my next point.


Privacy:

Just because a child entered a family in a way different from biologically doesn't mean that their story, medical history/conditions, trauma or anything else is information for any and everyone to have.

Something I have found surprisingly common is how much personal information people want to know about Tsega and his story.  Most people ask this question just out of curiosity, they want to know how the child got into their situation. While I can *kind of* understand why people ask, it is something that I, as a non-confrontational person have struggled to navigate. For the sake of shaping a new perspective I am going to confront it head on:

Adoption never happens because of a good situation, every adoption story is rooted in some sort of deep pain and loss which is not something that everyone wants to relive. Often times children, depending on their age, may not fully understand their story. So to ask to be given information about a child, when the child themselves is still dealing with the ramifications and emotions of it, is inappropriate even if the question isn't asked that way.
An adoptee's past and history is their story to tell when and if they are ready, not the parents. Tsega doesn't even know his full story so for us, we can't justify divulging all of his story to everyone when he doesn't even know what his story is yet.

Protecting an adoptee's story is a key piece to helping them rectify their trauma.

Again, I do not in any way want this to come across as a lecture, a bitter rant, or negative stance on adoption. None of those things are true.

I just couldn't let another year go by and not shed light on these issues because I know most people partake in these conversations from well intentioned places.

Peace is a Promise He Keeps

Growing up we had this very tall palm tree at the front of our yard. Every summer when the monsoons would roll in, I would watch that palm tree sway back and forth, bending further with each gust of wind.

I would sit at the front door nervously looking out the window watching that tree... I was convinced that tree was going to fall over right onto our house. If it wasn't the palm tree, then one of flashes of lightning showing off all over the sky would surely strike our house or yard and catch fire, or the rain would come pouring in and eventually flood our house.

Worry. Worry. Worry. 

I was consumed by it as a child. Just ask my family; they often called me a worrywart because of how much worry would cripple me.

As I have gotten older, I have tried very hard to fight against and overcome worry.

At best it causes you to always revert to worst case scenarios. At its worst, it paralyzes you from being able to move forward in any capacity.

It's not easy to overcome, especially as an internal processor. My mind is often churning, thought after thought after thought after thought. I am either replaying situations, questioning everything that already happened, second guessing what was said, how it was said, the way I acted, if I came across a certain way. Or, I am playing out future scenarios: what if this, what if that, etc., etc.

I am sure by now you have heard the song P E A C E by Hillsong Young & Free. If not, you should go check it out right now. Seriously, stop reading and go listen.

That song is a song I never knew I needed.

After soaking in the lyrics of that song I became keenly aware of just how much I allow worry to affect my thoughts & actions.

This adoption process has tested every facet of faith that I could have ever imagined and worry is no exception.

Literally, every "what if" scenario I have played out in my head has quickly become my reality. Everything I have been scared of, unprepared for, and terrified of happening has happened.

And.

Strangely, through most of this process, especially this last month or so when the script has continued to take every twist and turn imaginable, I have felt intoxicated by the relentless waves of peace. But not just any peace, His peace.


The biggest thing that God has taught me in this process is that God is still good and perfect even when things don't turn out the way that you want them to. That lesson is hard and so scary and not one to take lightly.

Every path my mind has wandered down, every scene that has played out on the screen of my life I have had to stop and say "God you are still good."

Of course we know that God is good and it is really easy to say it and live by it when things play out the way you wanted them to or expected them to.

But... when your biggest fears are your reality, when you are faced with the one thing you never wanted to happen, when the thing he asked you to step into is taken away, when your flesh and mind want to quickly turn to resentment and anger. THEN, in those moments when you have to choose to lean into God's goodness and perfect faithfulness, it no longer becomes an easy thing to say.  It requires you to dig in your heels and deeply know and stand on the fact that he is good and he is perfect, regardless of what happens.

This isn't to stay that I have not struggled with this concept, I have been all over the roller coaster of emotions.

In the last few weeks/month I have felt a shift in the winds. I know now the only way I have been able to confidently walk into the eye of the storm is through the promise of peace that God keeps for us. He can make messes into a beautiful intricate piece in his plan, he can use an obstacle to make a shortcut, and he can provide a ram as a sacrifice in a split second.
But, he doesn't have to do any of those things and sometimes he doesn't. AND. Even when he doesn't do any of those things, even when our worst case scenario plays out, we can still cling to the peace of his goodness, faithfulness, and perfection. 

In the eye of the storm that I can't see past, I have felt Jesus wrap me in his arms and promise His peace because he sees what is coming when the storms passes.

Sitting. Waiting. Wishing.

We walked into the overcrowded, stuffy Social Security Office, went through security and proceeded to the ticket kiosk. My jaw dropped when I saw the number printed on our ticket: 180. My eyes glanced over at the screen and the shock continued. They were on number 118. We walked over to the hard, subway-style metal bench and settled in... This was going to be a long wait.

Have you ever waited in a Social Security Office (or any government building for that matter)? Let me tell you, it's not fun and it's long. There is nothing to do or watch, and if you have a toddler with you, you can't just slip away into your iPhone while the minutes (hours) tick by. When you have a toddler with you, you have to find a way to keep them entertained (and quiet) and keep the both of you from going insane.

Now, I consider myself to be a fairly patient person (I contribute years of child care and teaching experience to that). 

But waiting. 

Waiting is a whole other level of patience. 

Waiting for things is hard.

Especially when we live in a society of instant gratification right at our finger tips (thanks Amazon Prime!).

Waiting is hard because we often don't see purpose in it. When we have to wait all we want is for the waiting to end and we feel justified in our complaining/anger/disappointment/etc. while we wait.

The waiting during this adoption process has been HARD. 

Hard is an understatement. It's been: frustrating, defeating, discouraging, disappointing, agonizing, and downright exhausting.

For months, I have asked God to show me the purpose in this season of wait. I have pleaded with Him to cover me with peace and trust as I wait on his timing.

But, in these last few weeks I have found myself time and time again on my knees crying out to God asking (begging) Him to make this waiting end. I have felt tired, weary, broken-hearted, and weak.

Then I heard the words: Wait well.

Wait well. 

Am I waiting well? What does waiting well look like?

He brought me to the story of Hannah. Hannah was a woman who not only waited for years for a son, but as she waited was constantly antagonized by her rival.

Hannah's story is one I held to tightly during Tsega's adoption, as we shared the same desire and I identified with her deep anguish.

This time He showed me something different in Hannah's story. 

Hannah waited well. 

Hannah, burdened in anguish, desperate to bear a son, tortured by her rival, weeping on her knees, clung to the Father.

Hannah did not lose heart. She did not abandon her God or her faith. Instead, she got on her knees, she wept, and she clung to the Father. 

It is so hard to wait, especially when the waiting doesn't make sense, when the waiting seems like an injustice (or in some cases is an injustice), but we have two choices when we wait. 

We can wait poorly or we can wait well. 

Neither one will make the wait any faster, but one will make you better in the waiting.
In this season of waiting I have been discouraged, I have questioned God's goodness and His faithfulness. I had started to lose heart.

Hannah's story reminded me that I can wait in uncertainty and not falter in my faith because God is certain of the future. His timeline is so different and yet so much better than mine. A day is nothing to Him. Even a few months are mere minutes. I can look back at several instances in my life and be reminded of His goodness and His faithfulness.

I truly do not understand His timing nor does He owe me an explanation for it (ever!) but, I know that He has never let me down, or failed me, and for that I owe Him my trust. Even when I am at my weakest and weariest.

He loves our daughter far more than we ever could (I mean He created her for crying out loud).  He knew her future before we ever even knew her name.

Even though it is hard, and it hurts, and I am TIRED, and I can feel my strength slipping away, I am choosing to press into Him.

"I remain confident of this: 

I will see the goodness of the Lord

 in the land of the living. 

Wait for the Lord; 

be strong and take heart 

and wait for the Lord."

Psalm 27:13-14

Even When

I have hesitated to write this post for a while. In part because I didn't want to face the emotions that come along with writing and in part because I wanted our next update to be a picture of us as a family of four.

On April 20th the three of us boarded a plane to Ethiopia. The following Tuesday (April 24th) we went to the Ethiopian court and legally became the parents of our beautiful daughter. While there, we were able to finish all of the follow up steps...except one. Her visa.

Our case is having a hiccup on the U.S. side which is holding up our ability to bring her to America. This issue does seem like it will get worked out, but there is no definitive timeframe of when that will happen.

So, last week we made the extremely heartbreaking decision to leave Ethiopia. We arrived home Friday night. After spending our first few days home overcoming jet lag I have been hit with a wave of emotions.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. We weren't supposed to leave her behind (again). She is supposed to be here on the couch with me or running around the house playing with her brother.

At least that is not how it was supposed to be in MY mind, in MY timeline, and in MY plans.

What's that saying? "You wanna make God laugh? Tell him your plans."

So many of the Christian cliches have been running through my mind the past few weeks.

"God will work it out in his timing"
"Everything happens for a reason"
"When God says yes, no one can say no"

Obviously there is truth in these statements, some of them are derived from Bible verses. But it dawned on me that I was drowning in the whirlpool of all these sayings.

Do I believe what I say I believe?

We sing lines all the time like "Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders....take me deeper than my feet could ever wander" or "Oh the peace that comes when I'm broken and undone by Your unfailing grace. I can lift my voice and say You can have it all, Lord" or "I will remain confident in this, I will see the goodness of the Lord"  

But when the Spirit does take us to where our trust is without borders, when we are deeper than our feet have ever wandered, do we find peace in the brokenness that comes with it? Do we remain confident that we will see God's goodness? 

Or are those just nice lines in a song that can get us ramped up during worship and we neglect the weight and power of the words we are pouring from our lips?

I ask God all the time to take me deeper, to help me to grow more in Him.. and yet I am always somehow thrown off when he does. 

While we were in Ethiopia, we visited the embassy a couple of times to meet with people about our case in hopes of finding a way to resolve the issues. I went into those meetings feeling so confident that God was going to do something big, he was going to part the waters and move some mountains. I left both meetings feeling discouraged, disheartened, and confused. 

I didn't understand. I had the faith (and it was definitely bigger than a mustard seed). I believed he was going to do it, but he didn't do it. 

This week as I have had time to let the emotions settle and the grief fade, God began to open my eyes. He reminded me of the songs above that I so proudly belt out in worship. He reminded me that I asked for this, I asked for my faith to be made stronger. 

Your faith can't be made stronger if you don't have moments of brokenness and weakness. Those are the moments where you choose if you want to grow. When in your brokenness you choose to press into God and press into his truths. That is when you can begin to feel your faith get stronger. When you choose to stand firm in what you say you believe even when you don't understand. Even when it doesn't make sense, even when you're disappointed, even when it hurts like hell, even when all you want to do is give up and give in. When you choose to cling on to the tiniest piece of thread, that is when His spirit is made strong in you. 

So even though my heart is broken, even though I am incredibly disappointed, even though I am spending my very first Mother's Day with my children on two different continents, even though I am confused and thoroughly don't understand what is happening and why. I am choosing to say yes. Yes, I really do believe what I say I believe. I know that God has already said yes, and no one on this entire Earth can say no.