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